Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
by amimochi123
Summary: After their night of lust Lucius and Harry can't stop thinking of each other. But they're still on different sides of the war. Will they give in to their own desires for more? If so whose side will they choose?And what's with this mark on Harry's arm LMHP
1. Non! Rien de Rien

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

Summary:After their night of uncontrolled lust, brought together by the Room of Desire, neither Lucius nor Harry can stop thinking of the other. But they are still on different sides of the war. Will they give in to their own desires for more, and if so, whose side will they turn to? And what is up with this mark on his arm? A continuation of enchanted nightingale's Room of Desire, with permission. Slash. Possible Dark!Harry. I can't tell you more without giving away the plot...

A/N: This story might be a little **slow**, romance-wise. I had originally intended this to be a purely romance fic between Lucius and Harry, but then the plot ambushed me, twice, and so the lemon is being put off a little. This is probably a** fairly slow fic**, at first, so bear with me. But I swear all of it has a purpose! I just have a lot of things to set up. And also cause it follows OOTP and HBP for a little. Please let me know if there's anything I can improve.

Also, Warning for a ton of **OCs **and **AUness**.

**Go read: fanfiction. net/s /3915736/ **Because I tried to think of a good prologue, but I couldn't think of anything better than what she has.

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 1: Non! Rien de Rien

Harry tumbled out of the floo into the Headmaster's office, a glowing orb clutched in his hand. Taking a few steps forward to regain his balance, he would have fallen face forward into someone's chest had it not been for the steadying hands that reached out to grab his arms. He followed the hands to see Sirius' face, giving a mischievously reassuring smile down at him. Harry smiled back up tentatively.

"Okay there, squirt?" Sirius asked.

Harry grimaced at the nickname.

"Don't call me that."

He had always been quite small, and even as a first year. He had, for the most part, gotten used to everything that came with being small: affectionate nicknames, comments—both malicious and not— pats on the head, fervent mothering, fierce hugs and the odd girly squeal. Especially now, after all the other boys (and girls) his year had gone through puberty, he was left behind in the height department. He knew that he would always be small and lithe for his age group, but it was ridiculous. He was definitely the shortest male in his year (and the next year behind as well), and he was very nearly the shortest _person _in the entire year. Only a few girls were shorter than he. Harry had a secret theory that magic augmented the size of witches and wizards, as they tended to be taller than Muggle, on the whole. But in his case, his magic was too concerned with healing his wounds, and preventing death from malnutrition or dehydration to make him any taller. He hoped that puberty was coming to make a second round with him. Seriously. He would settle for a couple inches.

Startled, he heard the floo flare again and turned his head to see Remus step up behind him. Without turning back around, he knew all the others in the room were staring at him expectantly. Harry tried his best to look oblivious to the fact that they were surely going to interrogate him further on the night as he took in the other occupants of the room.

Dumbledore was staring at him over the lenses of his half-moon glasses, expression stern. Harry smiled at him, purposely smiling a wide-eyed, innocent smile. Dumbledore's expression softened infinitesimally. _Oh yes, works every time, _Harry thought. Bill was already seated in an armchair, looking for all the world to be casual and relaxed, though tired. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in a dark corner of the office, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. Snape, who had been unable to go to the Department of Mysteries because of his spy status, was already lurking in another corner, the thunderous expression on his face was ten times as bad as the one on Moody's. Shacklebolt had stayed behind at the Ministry to assist the Minister and other aurors. Harry looked around more and realized that Tonks and Mr. Weasley were gone, but then again so were his friends. He assumed that as he had flooed in as the second to last person, the other students had already been taken to the Hospital Wing by Tonks and Mr. Weasley. Harry looked back at Sirius and Remus. He was relieved that the two men that were the closest things to father figures that he had came out of the fight safe.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk. He looked inordinately serious, considering the expression he had worn all the times before when Harry had been called into his office. Harry had been noticing it all year, the way Dumbledore's voice seemed more solemn around him, the way he would refuse to even look at him, and something else more subtle in his expressions and mannerisms that had changed. He was less… cheery. Harry had slowly come to realize that the way he interacted with Dumbledore had changed. It was as if he was treating Harry as more than a little boy— but it was more than that, too, something deeper, that Harry could not put his finger on.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice grave, "could you give me that, please."

It was more of a command than anything else, so Harry reluctantly hands over the little glass globe— what he had thought was a secret weapon. All this trouble, the entire year had been about this little glass globe, and tonight had been the culmination of that year. After month's worth of frustrating dreams, and a frightening night of running through Great Britain, Harry had what both sides wanted in his hand. And he had to give it to Dumbledore. Harry knew it was a prophecy— one about him and about Voldemort. He had been hoping to sneak off to listen to it some time, if he could figure out how. It was about him, after all. He resolved to ask about it later.

"Please take a seat, we would like to ask you some more questions about tonight."

Harry felt something in his stomach sink at the thought, but he kept it off his face. It had been a long day, and it would be an equally long night. Well, technically, it _had _been a long night, seeing as how it was already going to be dawn soon. Harry resolved to stick to his lie about what had happened in the Department of Mysteries with Lucius Malfoy. It was something so intensely personal to him, and something that he didn't feel that was something they had to know. The general gist of the night was all that was necessary— that he had spent time in the same room as Lucius Malfoy, right-hand man to the Dark Lord Voldemort himself, and that he had come out unharmed was all they needed to know. The state of the affairs between the two, the…er… _activities _enjoyed by both, and the state of his virginity were irrelevant.

He only hoped that Bill kept his silence. He had kept quiet and gone with Harry's story until now, but now that they were back in the Headmaster's office, maybe he'd come clean. Harry knew that the reactions, if he told the truth, would be fierce outrage and disdain. No, they would be more than that. He couldn't even imagine what people would say if they found out. But it had been his decision and he, somehow, still didn't regret it. Perhaps that would be something to think about later, when he was alone. He reluctantly took a seat with Sirius on a loveseat in front of Dumbledore's desk that had been transfigured from an armchair.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore said again, "could you tell us why you and five other students rushed out tonight to the Department of Mysteries?"

Harry took a deep breath, and began his story. He began with the truth, telling about the fake vision, meeting Umbridge, getting no assistance from Snape, entering the Forbidden Forest, the journey to the Ministry, and finally of finding the prophecy.

Harry cleared his throat nervously; this was getting close to the point he would have to lie.

"Well, after I picked it up, I heard Lucius Malfoy behind me. He told me to give the ball to him. I refused. Bellatrix Lestrange and some other Death Eaters came, and we all got separated. Lucius Malfoy chased me into the circular room, and I don't know how long we were running around for, but eventually I ran down a corridor."

This is where it would get tricky. Harry put up the best Occlumency shields he had, which were horribly weak, and pushed to the forefront his memories of running through the Department of Mysteries, and feelings of fear. It was the best he could do. He looked at Professor Dumbledore, right between the eyebrows, so it would appear he had eye contact without actually looking him in the eyes. Harry hoped that it was far enough away from his eyes that Dumbledore wouldn't be able to read his mind. He tried to keep close enough to the truth, anyway, just in case.

"He chased me. I ran into a room. He followed. I— I don't know. I started feeling… funny. I don't know, it was like, my heart was beating too hard or too fast or something. He came in, and stopped. I could tell that whatever it was that was affecting me was affecting him as well." This is where the lying began, "He started cursing me and taunting me, but it seemed different than before. We got into a duel, but I could tell that he wasn't putting his all in to it. Eventually we stopped."

Moody, who had till then been silent, save for a few snorts here and there, spoke up, "You just stopped? Not likely, boy."

"Well, we did. I don't know what to tell you." Harry cut his eyes to Bill to see his reaction. He sat calmly, giving no indication that he suspected Harry to be lying. He didn't look likely to cut in with the truth.

"Alastor, we must take into account the affects of the room they were in," said the Headmaster.

Moody grumbled but said nothing further.

"Harry, if you would please continue the story." Harry noticed that it was more of a demand than a request.

"Yeah, well. Er, like I said, we stopped fighting. I was feeling a bit dizzy. We just, stared at each other, I guess. I don't know how long for. I was about to leave when you all got there." He paused, assessing if there was anything he left out, "er… that's it, I guess. You know the rest from there." Harry chanced another glance at Bill. He marveled at the fact that he was saying nothing. If it had been anybody else, they would have blurted the truth the first chance they got, and then defend themselves with _'But _Harry, _it's for your own good'_ if he got angry. But he just sat there, looking amused and staying silent.

"That's it. You fought, _'sort-of,' _and then you stared at each other. And he let you go. That's it?" Moody didn't seem convinced.

"Uh…"

Sirius jumped in to defend Harry before anything else could be said. "That's what he said, isn't it, Mad-Eye? You already asked that."

"As I said before, we must take in to account the effects of the room. It undoubtedly had unknown effects on them."

"The Ministry said that the Room of Desire lowers inhibitions and encourages people to act on their sexual urges. It certainly smelled like something sexual had gone on, but perhaps I was mistaken." Remus finally put in his own two cents, seeing as he was the one that had found them. Up until that point he had been sitting in his armchair next to Harry, quietly contemplating.

"Yes, _encourages _being the key word, I believe…" Dumbledore trailed off, as he was wont to do.

"Sir?"

"Yes, well, I mean that if there were no desires to encourage, then nothing would have taken place. Given the situation, I have no reason to believe that either party would be amenable to relations of any sort— or positive ones at least."

Bill coughed. Harry endeavored not to look at him.

"Exactly," Sirius said, "as if anyone could be attracted to that pompous ass."

"Harry, it seems that the room merely made you feel dizzy instead of working on your sexual desires. We will have to look in to that, and ask the Ministry what the affects would be on two individuals that had only animosity for each other. I would conjecture that the reason why his threats seemed to fall flat, and even why his heart did not seem to be in the duel, would be that the room did have a miniscule effect on Lord Malfoy. Interesting indeed." By now Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again. "Huh! What mysteries our world has. To work in the Department of Mysteries, now that would be something, wouldn't it?"

Harry stayed quiet, unsure if he was off the hook or not. Both Snape and Moody were in their respective corners, brooding silently. They were used to Dumbledore's tangents by now and had learned to stay quiet to humor the man.

"But back to the point. Harry, it was irresponsible what you did. It pains me to say this, Harry, but I am very disappointed in you. A lot of people could have gotten hurt." Looking around the room, he could see that Snape, and Moody were in agreement with Dumbledore, and even Remus looked like he secretly agreed but wanted to remain quiet about it. Moody almost seemed shocked that he actually agreed with Snape over something. Bill was looking angrily at the floor, pursing his lips, but Harry had the feeling that he wasn't angry at him, but instead angry on his behalf.

"We were lucky this time that there were no serious injuries. Perhaps I am asking too much," Snape sorted, but Dumbledore soldiered on. "You are young yet, and I understand that. I wish that you had more time to enjoy being young and irresponsible, but I am afraid that the time for that has passed. Now that the Ministry will acknowledge Voldemort's return, war efforts will begin in earnest. But I truly believe that a lot can be learned from tonight." Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon glasses, "Harry, as we grow up, we need to learn to make educated decisions. And to do that, we must slow down, and learn all we can about a situation before running into it."

Harry hated his condescending tone. He of course knew about assessing a situation before running in. Contrary to popular belief, he did not run blindly into situations. Oftentimes, he was the only one that had the knowledge necessary to succeed, or the adults didn't believe him—like tonight, or the night that he saved the Philosopher's Stone. He had learned very early in life to enter situations fully informed. Life with the Dursleys was tricky at best, having to judge the subtleties of each situation, most especially the moods of each person, was extremely important to saving his hide each day. Not knowing the situation led to saying or doing the wrong thing, which had potentially disastrous results.

Moody interrupted his thoughts, "Potter, what he means is that you can't be goin' off half-cocked. You have to slow down, turn down that fire under your cauldron. Your temper and your youth'll get you in trouble, sure's hell."

Dumbledore coughed _ahem, _and it reminded Harry scarily of Umbridge. He could tell The Supreme Mugwump in him wasn't happy about being interrupted. "Thank you, Alastor. Now, Harry, as I was saying, added to all this, the governors will not be very happy. Not only did you willfully break the rules and entered the Forbidden Forest, you left the school grounds without permission, getting five other students injured." Dumbledore paused, and took in Harry's angry expression, "Harry, this is not my opinion, I am just telling you how the School Governors will react. After Cedric Diggory's death at the Tri Wizard tournament and the usage of underage magic that is already on your record, on top of the slander that has been in the papers this past year, it will be hard for the public to accept this, even if you were right all along about Voldemort's return. You could very well be expelled for this."

Snape looked positively gleeful. By now, it seemed, he had learned that it was best to hold his tongue in front of the Headmaster. No doubt Harry would be hearing it from it later, though. Professor Dumbledore continued, "Harry, I am very sorry about this, my boy, but I believe it would be best if I sent you home tomorrow. I believe it will appease the School Governors, and they will not expel you. There are only a few days left in school, but I believe it will make all the difference."

"Oh, please, sir, it's just a few days, can I stay?" Harry pleaded, "I'd like to see my friends and say goodbye to everyone. It can't make that much of a difference, can it, sir?"

Harry didn't want to go home at all. If he went home early, the Dursleys would know that he was being sent home early for a reason, and would surely punish him for his 'bad behavior.'

Professor Snape scoffed. It seemed he thought that Harry's act was too dramatic. Harry ignored him.

"No, Harry, I believe it would be for the best if you went home. I think I can allow you to stay till tomorrow evening, but you must be gone after dinner. That is the best I can do." He said it with such a tone of finality that Harry knew there would be no getting himself out of this one.

Harry noted that by 'tomorrow evening,' Professor Dumbledore meant 'later tonight,' so even though it sounded like he had loads of time, between sleeping and packing he hardly had any time at all before he had to leave.

"Yes, sir."

"Now, do you have any questions?"

Harry hesitated, unsure whether to bring it up in front of all these people. It was a delicate matter, and intensely private as well. He would have preferred to wait till he was alone with Dumbledore, especially considering some of the reactions he was expecting— namely from Snape, Sirius and Remus— but it had to be said.

"Well, a couple, sir. First of all, can I go to Sirius's instead of going back to the Dursleys? Please? I'll let you send me back early, but please, sir, don't make me go back there. I hate it there. Send me anywhere but there."

There, he had said it. It was as close to admitting the truth he could get without confessing outright what happened at the Dursleys. That was one thing that he was not prepared to do.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but no. You must go back to them."

"But why, sir?"

Sirius snapped out of his shock at the possibility of having Harry with him over the summer. "I am his godfather, I should be his legal guardian, at least in the magical world. Even if I'm technically on the run from the authorities, I shouldn't think that would matter just between us. I don't see why Harry can't come stay with me. I'd like to get to know him."

"Sirius, I understand your desire to get to know your godson better, and to tell you the truth, the fact that you are a convict has nothing to do with my decision to send Harry back to the Dursleys. They are his only living relatives, and so he must go there."

Harry was getting desperate. "But sir! They really— that is to say, they don't treat me very well there. I don't want to go back."

Here Snape cut in, "What, Potter, they don't cater to your every whim enough? They don't let you wander the neighborhood as much as you'd like? They don't give you enough birthday presents?"

"Shut up, Snivelly, don't talk to my godson that way!"

Dumbledore sighed and interrupted them again. Harry wanted nothing more than to prove Snape wrong. He wanted to explode and yell at him how he was really treated at 'home,' but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He knew deep down that Snape would never believe him. He was too set in his beliefs, and he wasn't going to risk the embarrassment of others knowing the abuse he suffered at home, just to tell Snape something he wouldn't listen to. So Harry just seethed silently. Snape looked smug.

"Harry, there is something that you must understand." The Headmaster began, "The night your parents were killed, your mother sacrificed herself for you. I believe it is how you were able to survive the Killing Curse. The purest, deepest love she held for you, protected you, and still does." Harry thought there was something odd about this statement, and promised to come back to it later, as Dumbledore was continuing his explanation. "As her blood was what was sacrificed for you, it is what still protects you. That is why you must return to the Dursleys, and no other reason. The blood that flows through your Aunt's veins, as well as your cousin's, is the last of the blood that flowed through your mother's veins. It protects you. As long as you call that place home, and are able to return to it at least once a year to renew the blood protections, your mother's protection can continue. No matter how they treat you, Harry, I am afraid you must be sent back."

It took a while for that to sink in for Harry. Maybe if he didn't go right away, the Dursleys wouldn't know that he was being sent home early.

"Sir, can I just go with Sirius for the first part of summer and then return to the Dursleys later?"

"Harry, I think it would be best if you returned to the Dursleys right away, and then we can see about letting you visit others." And that was that.

"I understand, Professor. Maybe Harry can come later in the summer." Sirius said, resigned.

Harry sighed. He wasn't very happy about it, but it was worth a shot. Part of him was expecting this to happen, and was confirmed.

"You had another question, my boy?"

After the response to the last question, Harry didn't feel like asking another. Then, he decided that he might not get another chance to ask his question before he was shipped back home. And then when would he ask it? It was something that had been weighing on his mind all year, and he felt that now, at least, maybe Dumbledore would answer him.

"Yes… sir… er, why did you avoid looking at me all this year?"

The Headmaster sighed. "Harry, the answer to that is difficult. I do truly regret what I had to do this year. It pained me more than you know." Dumbledore paused, as if choosing his words carefully, "You see, I knew that your scar was a connection to Voldemort, and I felt that the connection was surely a two-way one. I feared that Voldemort would come to know our relationship, and would use you to get to me. I am afraid that he used Sirius instead. Your potential for loving, Harry, is very great, and he took advantage of that. I am very sorry."

Harry heard the underlying confession: Dumbledore had known that Voldemort would try to lure Harry into a trap this year, using someone that he loved, and didn't warn Harry. What's more, the reason he didn't tell Harry of this was because he thought it could be himself that Voldemort used. But instead Sirius was used, and everyone else paid the price. If he had just told Harry from the beginning about his suspicions, Harry would have worked harder at Occlumency, and wouldn't have fallen for the trap tonight. All because of Dumbledore and his damn tight lipped ways! He only told people the important information when he thought they needed to know—which was sometimes after the fact. And the Headmaster wasn't a stupid man. He must have figured out what sort of treatment Harry received at the Dursleys, especially from what Harry had just alluded to in his earlier confession, even it wasn't a full confession. And he was still sending Harry back to the Dursleys!

Harry was furious, and he felt helpless all at the same time. He had known his night wasn't going to go well, but he hadn't expected it to go this badly. He was so angry and frustrated that he could feel tears welling in his eyes. He refused to let them fall. Harry was almost vindictively glad that he had lied earlier. It was his own private 'Screw You!' If he had felt at all bad before about lying about his encounter, he definitely didn't now. In fact, it was kind of like giving Dumbledore a taste of his own medicine. Heh.

Harry looked at Remus. He had been awfully quiet the entire night. He had just sat next to Harry, staring at him and at Dumbledore. Maybe Remus was still unsure enough about what he thought he had smelled to not say anything. If anyone were to know the truth about his actions tonight, it would be Remus. He seemed unsure about what he had smelled, but Harry knew that with some thought, and maybe a pensieve, Remus could know the truth.

Harry wasn't sure what to think of his former Professor. He seemed to agree with Dumbledore and Snape and Moody, at least about the recklessness of Harry's actions, but he had always seemed like the most contemplating Marauder. Harry supposed he could see where someone so cautious and prone to contemplation as Remus could think that Harry was acting irresponsibly. It did still hurt on a level that Remus had taken their side over his, as immature as that sounded. But on the other hand, Remus hadn't yet ratted him out by looking more deeply at what had happened at the Ministry. Harry wasn't sure if it was deliberate, but he was grateful all the same.

Speaking of being ratted out, Harry was perplexed by Bill's actions. Not that he was going to complain. He was sick of being treated like a child. Bill was just treating him like an adult, following his lead in all of this. He appreciated that a lot. And Bill seemed to neither approve nor condemn Harry's actions that night. Even when he had caught them naked, laying together and covered in cum, he seemed shocked more than anything. He hadn't said one word against it at all, in fact. Harry was also puzzled by some of Bill's reactions that night to what was being said. He seemed to disapprove of Dumbledore's actions, and even looked a little angry. Harry figured that there must be some underlying reason for the tension.

Harry's gaze shifted to Snape, lurking in the corner. Everyone was waiting in awkward silence while Dumbledore penned a letter. Snape's expression had been thunderous all night. No doubt he thought Harry running off to save Sirius Black of all people from the Dark Lord Voldemort was the height of Gryffindor arrogance and stupidity. Harry was sure that tonight had solidified his hate of Harry in his mind. Harry couldn't really bring himself to care beyond the fact that Snape would now probably find even more ways to make Harry's life more miserable than it already was. And that was saying something.

Harry then looked at Mad-Eye Moody. He stood in the far corner, facing the door. Old habits died hard, Harry supposed. Harry assumed, at least from Moody's comments tonight, that he thought Harry to be young, temperamental and impetuous. This wasn't necessarily false, nor was it a bad thing, but to Moody it did seem as such.

Last in his perusing of the office came Sirius. Good old Sirius, who was willing to risk his cover, and indeed his life, to save Harry— who, ironically enough, had been risking his _own life _for Sirius. What a pair they were. He had sat next to Harry the entire meeting, lending silent support. He seemed to be the only one in the room that believed what Harry had done had been right. Then again, maybe it was because it was Sirius himself who he thought he was saving. But it did seem to fit in to his personality. Loyal, fun loving, and daring. Sirius almost seemed proud. It was quite a contrast to the rest of the adults in the room. Harry wasn't quite sure what he thought about that.

Harry returned from his musing to hear Sirius talking to Dumbledore about the logistics of getting Harry back to the Dursleys. The Headmaster turned to him.

"Harry, I believe you should get checked out by Madame Pomfrey. You will find that your friends are already being treated in the Hospital Wing. Sirius, Remus, if you would stay?"

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood and was halfway to the door when he suddenly remembered.

"Sir! May I hear what the prophecy has to say?"

"Not yet, Harry. You have many things to do tonight before you must leave tomorrow."

"But sir, you just said that I should grow up, make informed decisions. Doesn't this include that?"

"Yes, it does, Harry. But I believe you can enjoy this last summer before I show it to you. Enjoy your youth, Harry."

"Sir, I really think I should know this. Whether I figure it out now, or after the summer, I'll be worrying about it all summer anyway."

"Practice your Occlumency first, and then we shall see."

Shot down again. He supposed he could see the benefit of learning to perfect his Occlumency before hearing the prophecy, but at this point, it just felt like another thing that Dumbledore was keeping from him, another letdown in a series of many for the night.

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Sorry if that chapter seemed a little long for you, but I felt it was necessary to establish the relationship between Harry the other characters. I also wanted to put Harry admitting to them all the treatment he receives at the Dursleys, but I figured that he wouldn't do that. People in those situations, I think wouldn't be so ready to admit things. I also think that Harry is a private person, and wouldn't be willing to admit it as readily as he does in other stories. I'm trying to make this story as natural as possible, so sorry if that makes it seem 'slow,' in contrast to some other fics out there.

-Boom.


	2. Non! Je Ne Regrette Rien

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 2: Non! Je Ne Regrette Rien

"Harry!"

Harry turned around when he heard his name called as he was leaving the hallway that housed the Headmaster's office.

"Sirius!"

"Harry, I have to go right back up, I just wanted to say I'm sorry that you won't be able to stay with me this summer."

"It's alright. Wait, not at all?"

"What?"

"I won't be able to go to your place at all this summer?"

"I don't know, Harry. But the way things are going, probably not."

"Can you please just ask? Please?"

"Alright. I'll ask. I'm not sure how much it'll do. What with the Order meeting there, I don't think it would be good to have you there."

"You mean you think I'd just get in the way."

"No! I mean, well, others might see it like that, but I never would. It's just that people will be going in and out at all hours, and they might disturb you, you know? And there'll be a lot of unfamiliar people there."

"And you won't have to ward against me when you have your meetings."

"Oh, Harry. Please don't think of it like that, I couldn't stand it. I would personally love to have you this summer. Just, I think that Dumbledore won't agree. I'll still ask though." Sirius's eyes were pleading. It seemed something transferred over from his animagus form, because his puppy dog eyes were killer. Harry folded.

"Alright, Sirius. It's alright. I've survived before, right? No big deal." Harry smiled for Sirius, although he didn't feel like smiling at all.

"Harry, I should go back inside, I told them this wouldn't take too long. But, I think Dumbledore might be sending me on a mission soon."

"What?? So soon?" Harry was shocked to say the least. He had hoped to spend the summer with Sirius, and now here he was saying goodbye. Harry wanted to curse Dumbledore. Couldn't he just let things be? And of course, he hadn't said anything when Harry was in the room. He had a niggling suspicion that the Headmaster was sending Sirius out just to quiet Harry— or at least to prevent Harry being able to stay with Sirius over the summer. But that part was quickly squashed as being too cynical. He was just in a bad mood, and prone to think the worst of everyone. He thought he had quieted that part of his brain when he entered Gryffindor.

"Yeah. He hasn't said anything yet, but I am just getting this feeling. Of course I'd be undercover because I'm still on the run, but, especially after tonight, I think he will. I mean, I've been asking to get out from house arrest for so long. I think he'll let me take a mission."

Harry frowned.

"Harry, I don't know when I'll leave, or when I'll get back. I just— I just wanted to let you know that I am so proud of you and I love you."

"I love you too, Sirius." Harry wished that they hadn't been having this rushed heart-to-heart in a hallway.

"I'll see you as soon as I can, alright, Harry?"

"Yeah, take care of yourself."

"You too, kiddo."

"Bye."

"Bye." Harry walked away, looking back occasionally. Sirius stood at the foot of the stairs until Harry turned the corner.

ooooooooooooooooo

By the time Harry made it to the Hospital Wing, the lights had already been dimmed. In the low light he could see a number of occupied beds at the far end of the ward. Through the windows the sky was slowly lightening. The sun would rise in an hour or so. From the looks of it, Hermione, Ron and Luna had been subjected to some sort of sleeping potion as they were lying silently in bed. Hermione and Ron must have been in some sort of healing sleep, as they looked to have been the worst off of them all. Ginny was sitting up in bed, staring off into space, and Neville in the bed beside her. Harry was proud of both of them, but especially Neville, tonight. He had held his own, been a fierce fighter, and faced Bellatrix Lestrange, the torturer of his parents. Mr. Weasley, sitting in a chair next to Ron, only looked up at Harry when he came in, a wan smile on his face. Tonks was already gone.

Harry walked cautiously over to Ginny and Neville. They both acknowledged him with small smiles.

"Hi, Harry." They both greeted him quietly.

"Er, hi, guys. How are you feeling?"

"Good, I can't sleep with my ankle healing, it just feels too funny," whispered Ginny. If healing a broken ankle was anything like re-growing the bones in your arm, he could sympathize.

"I'm sure. Neville, how are you?"

"Not too bad, Harry. I broke my nose. Pomfrey healed it pretty quick. But she put me under some Cruciatus curse, so they have to keep me to make sure I'm okay." Harry heard the underlying worry that he would turn out like his parents, in a hospital, unaware of anything. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, they sent me to get a checkup, but I'm fine. I don't need to see Pomfrey." There was an awkward pause in which Harry sort of wished he hadn't said that, especially looking at his two best friends that were lying unconscious in beds not too far away. Here they all were in the Hospital Wing and he, who had led them to danger in the first place, was perfectly fine. They didn't know, or need to know, that the reason he was fine was because he had been too busy having sex with Lucius Malfoy to get injured… Well, beyond the obvious rug burns and slight pains in his lower back and anus. It was actually the reason why he didn't want to see Madame Pomfrey. It would be pretty obvious what had happened that night— and the fact that he had lied— if she were to see what sort of healing he needed.

"Yeah, well… that's good." Said Neville, a little awkwardly.

"So when is everyone getting out?"

"They say I can leave later today if everything's alright," said Neville, "Luna and Ginny should be fine in the morning. We don't know how long Hermione and Ron are going to stay, because nobody really knows what happened to them."

Harry felt really bad. Nobody knew what was wrong with either of them, or how long it would take to heal. He wouldn't even sure if they would be healed by the time school let out, because he had to go home the next evening. Harry glanced at Mr. Weasley, who had his head bowed over Ron's prone form. He looked lost, almost. Harry recalled Mr. Weasley's own time in the hospital a few months prior. It seemed like yesterday, but a world away at the same time.

"What happened to them, I mean, that you do know?" Harry asked. He also wanted to know what happened to them after he was chased off by Lucius Malfoy, but he was afraid to go into that just yet. It was still too fresh. Maybe if Ron and Hermione were up before he left later that day.

"Well, Hermione was knocked unconscious by some sort of curse. I don't know what it was." Neville answered.

"And Ron was _Confunded, _and then he summoned a brain of some sort, and it attacked him."

Both of them looked like they wanted to ask him what happened to him, and how he got off unharmed, but had come to the same conclusion he had, and decided it was too soon. Harry was glad, because he couldn't help but thinking _If they knew, if they knew what really happened, they would be so bitter and angry. _And that is not to mention very betrayed.

"So you were talking to Professor Dumbledore for a long time," Ginny said.

" Yeah, they wanted to know what happened tonight, and also we talked about some other stuff, like me going back to the Dursleys this summer."

Ginny and Neville, who didn't really know about the treatment he received at home, beyond the fact that he always came back from summer a little skinny and more subdued than usual, both gave neutral responses.

"So I have to leave early to go back home later tonight," he said, because he had to get away from this awkwardness, even if he would be deserting his friends. "If Hermione and Ron wake up, tell them I'll be by before I have to leave."

"Alright."

"And, er," he continued, because he felt that he couldn't just leave it at that, "I'll try to sneak away, meet everyone at King's Cross when you all come in. To see how everyone is, and to say hello, okay?"

"Sure, Harry, that sounds great," Ginny said, but it sounded a bit forced.

"Okay, I'll see you later."

"Bye, Harry"

Harry walked over to Ron and Mr. Weasley. Hermione lay on the bed on the other side of him.

"Hi, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, hi, Harry." Mr. Weasley seemed very subdued, and a little disorientated.

"How are you?"

"Well, as good as I can be." His response made Harry feel worse, because it was his fault, really, that Ron and Ginny were here. It almost made it seem as though he blamed Harry, though Harry hoped this wasn't the case. Even if he had saved Mr. Weasley's life earlier in the year with his vision, he had also almost cost him two of his children.

"Er, where's Mrs. Weasley?"

"She should be on her way. She was fire-calling the other boys last I heard."

"Oh."

"How are you, Harry?" Mr. Weasley gave Harry a quiet smile.

"I'm good, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, that's good."

"Yes…" Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. He had never been good at small talk, nonetheless in awkward situations.

"Had quite an adventure last night, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for all this, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, what's done is done, Harry. Everyone gets into a bit of mischief once in a while."

"Yes, sir," Harry paused, "Listen, I should go; it's getting late."

Mr. Weasley merely nodded.

"Tell them hello if they should wake. And tell Mrs. Weasley hello for me when she gets here."

"I'll do that, Harry. You take care."

"Thank you sir, you too."

Harry slowly turned around and left the Hospital Wing. He wasn't actually tired. It had been an incredibly tiring day for him, but he was fine, and he didn't quite feel up to going and lying in bed yet. He decided to go see Hagrid, who was back by now. As he was turning down the hallway from the Hospital Wing, he spotted Mrs. Weasley hurrying down the hallway, a handkerchief clutched in her hands, and her face wet and blotchy from crying. Her face was screwed up, as if she was trying to hold back more tears. As soon as she spotted Harry she made a beeline for him.

"OH! Harry! Dear, how are you? You look fine! Are you fine? I heard that you weren't hurt. What a terrible thing to happen!" Mrs. Weasley had hugged him fiercely, and was holding him out at arms length by now. "I don't blame you, you know. I mean, I owe you so much after what you did to help Arthur this past Christmas."

"Uh…"

Mrs. Weasley kept talking right through him, her voice shaking. "And everything's okay, I hope, at least. I mean, everyone's still alive, aren't they? I just hope Ron and Hermione end up alright." Her demeanor changed, and she was suddenly in _Molly Weasley, mother of seven mode. _"But, Harry, what were you thinking, leading everyone on a wild goose chase? That is to say, dear, I don't mean to be horrible, but you can't just go running about like that, throwing yourself into danger! Think of what could have happened! If not for yourself, for your friends. Well, I suppose it's not my place to say those kinds of things, but I do think of you like a son, Harry dear. Someone should be a mother to you. I think that someone ought to have a talk with that aunt of yours. Anyway, I should be going. Mr. Weasley is in there all by himself, you know. I just know he is taking this poorly. Ginny has always been his favorite, you know. His little girl. Well, I'll see you later, though. Take care, dear."

And like that, the whirlwind that was Mrs. Weasley had breezed past him into the Hospital Wing. Harry was astonished. The entire monologue had taken her about a minute. He supposed how she was acting was testament to how distraught she was. He pushed it out of his mind, and continued walking to Hagrid's. He decided to take the long way about. He was still in a bad mood, the visit to the Hospital Wing not having helped much besides to give him something else to be depressed about.

He felt so alone right now. He was so confused. He had lied to everyone, and he had led his friends into danger, and now he was the only one that wasn't hurt. It was because of that lie that he felt so confused. He wished he could confide in somebody. But he couldn't go to Sirius, whom he would usually turn to with everything. He couldn't bear it if Sirius was disappointed in him, or even angry at him. But it was his fault. He was the one that lied, and there wouldn't have been anything to lie about in the first place if he hadn't led his friends into danger, if he hadn't had sex with Mr. Malfoy. And he had pushed his friends away, which made it all the worse. He had been so angry, so volatile all year. And now, last night, he had totally ditched them in the middle of a battle.

Harry was almost to the entrance hall when he spotted a familiar shock of white-blonde hair. Malfoy was striding towards him, a letter clutched in his hand. His robes swished agitatedly around him as he strode swiftly around the corner. He looked confused and bewildered and frustrated all at once. Part of Harry was raring for a fight with his nemesis. There was a small part of Harry, though, that suddenly realized how like his father Malfoy looked and that couldn't be angry at all.

"Malfoy!" he shouted, once he was close enough to hear.

Malfoy looked a little unsure of how to respond, "Potter," he said neutrally.

Harry was surprised by his response. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"Absolutely nothing that is any of your business, Potter."

Harry wanted to say something, anything, to get Malfoy riled. He wanted a fight. Something to take out all his aggressions with. He wanted to hurt something. He was so angry and disillusioned with so many different things right now that he needed an outlet. He could always count on Draco Malfoy to be the one he could spar with, verbally, magically, and sometimes physically. But not right now, it seemed. Malfoy seemed to be, if not holding back, at least trying to stay neutral. Harry searched for something to say, but the only thing he could things he could think of were insulting his father. And then those thoughts led to a taunt that he would have loved to say if only to see the reaction: _"I fucked your father," _but it was really more the other way around and that wasn't nearly as much of an insult.

"Where are your two dim-witted bookends, Malfoy, they get sick of you?"

"Shut up, Potty."

"Make me, Ferret-face."

Malfoy was clenching his jaw, "Potter, don't push me right now."

"What, too scared?" It was a taunt Harry knew worked every time. He stepped up close to Malfoy, "Maybe I want to push you right now."

Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes, and he said, "Fuck you, Scarhead," and pushed Harry aside. Harry grinned in satisfaction and pushed Malfoy back. It devolved into a shoving match, no words or punches, just shoving and sliding back and forth in the narrow hallway. Harry's insides were singing. He drove Malfoy back into a wall, pinning his shoulders. Malfoy paused and looked Harry square in the face.

"What the hell, Potter?! What is wrong with you? You're crazy. You are seriously cracked. Stay away from me." And with that he shoved Harry away from him and strode away, only looking back, his face blank, as he was about to turn the corner at the end of the hallway. It was only later that he realized what an odd time it was for Malfoy to be out on a stroll.

A couple corridors later, Harry heard his name being shouted again. "Harry!"

What was it, Weasley night? Granted, there were like fifteen of them. "Hi, Bill."

"Listen, can we talk?"

Harry's stomach fell, just a little bit at that. But he was more curious than anything. "Uh, yeah. Here, in here." They entered an unused classroom.

Bill set up locking and silencing charms and also some wards. It was amazing to see. Harry didn't know what some of the wards did. Considering his job as a curse breaker, Harry was sure that this entire conversation would be private.

"Harry. I wanted to let you know that your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone what I saw. Ever."

Harry smiled, relieved, "Thanks, Bill."

"Everyone else thinks that what Remus smelled was just the room. No one even doubts it."

"Good."

"I think you're almost an adult, and you can make your own decisions. I remember what it was like being smothered. Heck, I still am. Mum and Dad forget that I'm not one of the kids anymore, and it drives me crazy." Bill paused, "And I don't agree with how you're being treated, Harry."

What was he referring to? The Dursleys?

"You are being expected to fight our fight, and kill the Dark Lord while most people sit in their homes. You shouldn't be made to fight. And Dumbledore—" Bill broke off, his face pinched.

"Can I trust you, Harry, to not say anything to anyone about what we're talking about tonight?"

"Yeah, of course. You're keeping my secret."

"Dumbledore is a master manipulator, Harry. I've found out some things about him that make my skin crawl. He— I don't want to say too much, but he does things for '_the greater good_' but he has no regard for people. Look at you, he keeps sending you back to the Dursleys and he knows they don't treat you well. And—" he stepped closer to Harry and began to whisper, "and I know you've been on some adventures since you've gotten to Hogwarts. I've heard from Ron. And Dumbledore didn't do anything to help. He knows everything that goes on in this castle, Harry." Bill looked different than Harry had seen him before. More angry, more intimidating than ever. He had a grimly serious expression on his face.

Harry's mind was whirling. Bill was right.

"Oh, my God."

Dumbledore had known, his first year, when Harry was going to see the Mirror of Erised, though he had been wearing his invisibility cloak, but yet he didn't know about Quirrell? Or the Basilisk? Dumbledore had even been in the school the first time it was released, and he didn't know what it was or how it was getting around? Even Hermione at age twelve had figured it out the first time. And speaking of the Chamber of Secrets, if Fawkes came with the damn Hat, couldn't he have told Fawkes to save Ginny in the first place? Why wait for Harry to get there, and instead of saving them, give them a fucking Hat? What if he hadn't been able to get the damn sword out of the hat, anyway? And he hadn't stopped Sirius in third year. Granted, Sirius had knowledge of the castle's secret passages, but Dumbledore had been in the school for _how long _and he hadn't found secret passages that his father had? The thoughts kept tumbling haphazard out of his brain, over and over again. He had to stop thinking about this now, or he might do something stupid. He was already in a bad mood from earlier, and that confrontation with Malfoy hadn't helped at all. The thoughts kept going, though. It was like putting a puzzle together, when one piece clicked and everything else fell into place. Harry took a deep breath, and consciously directed his thoughts to where his things were that he needed to pack. Bill stood in front of him, peering at him worriedly. He vaguely heard the rumble of thunder in the distance.

"Wow, I just realized a lot of things."

"Yeah, quite an epiphany, huh?"

"Yeah. Wow. Holy shit. I— Thanks. I've got to think about a lot of things now, though."

"I understand. If you need to talk, or have any questions, let me know. I can listen any time, Harry."

"Thanks, Bill."

"No problem. And hey, you might be coming to the Burrow for the last part of summer. We can talk more then."

Harry desperately wanted to ask what other types of things Dumbledore did, but decided against it. First, he would think about his own life.

"Listen, I should go. We've been in here for a while. I need to go see Ron." Bill was taking down his wards with fast flicks of his wand.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I'm always getting him into trouble."

"It's alright, Harry. He really likes you, we all do. He's just being a friend."

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

Bill walked out. And then, watching him walk away, Harry realized that he had referred to Voldemort as the Dark Lord, and not You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or even Voldemort. Odd. He recalled the boom of thunder from earlier, and quickly ran to his dorm for a thick cloak.


	3. Ni Le Bien

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

AN: I had to take out some of the smutty stuff at the end, there, in accordance to FFN's TOS. If you'd like to read it, let me know, and I'll consider getting an account somewhere else so you can read what I wrote. I tried to leave some stuff in, so you can get an idea of what happens

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 3: Ni Le Bien

By the time Harry made it to Hagrid's hut, his head was pounding; it felt like his brain was going to explode from the amount of pressure in his head. The sky was now a light blue, the color it turned just before the sun rose. Strange, wasn't it supposed to be raining? He must have been hearing things. Smoke was already coming out of Hagrid's chimney, and he figured Hagrid must have been up early for some reason. He considered turning around and just watching the sun rise. The way things were going, he knew that it was probably not going to be the best of conversations, but he was already there, so he raised his hand to knock.

"Jes' a minnit!"

Harry heard the clanking some dishes, and a couple of seconds later Hagrid opened the door.

"Mornin' Harry! How are yeh? Come in, come in!"

"Hello Hagrid."

"Ron and Hermione're still laid up, are they? Heard abou' wha' happen'd. Terrible thing."

"Yeah, they're in the Hospital Wing. I checked on them, but they were sleeping."

"Oh, well… hope'lly they'll be okay soon, Harry"

"Yeah. I hope so, too."

"Yeh oughtn't'a gone runnin' off like tha', Harry. I know yeh must've heard it a thousan' times, but it ought to be said. Anyway, how are yeh feelin'? Alrigh' I hope."

"I'm fine," he said automatically. He wasn't sure if Hagrid could really understand if he told him the truth about how he was feeling, anyway. "So, where did you go?"

"Agh, I just went up inta th' moun'ins. Tweren't too bad. Big feller like me's made to be out there, like tha'."

Harry just nodded. As a half-giant, he really was quite fit for camping out in the mountains.

"Well, how's school? OWLs are right import'nt. I never took 'em meself, an' I'm doin' jes' fine, mind you, but tha'ss only 'cause Dumbledore took me under 'is wing. Bless that Dumbledore. Tea, Harry?"

"Yes, please. I think I did okay on my OWLs. I passed out during the History of Magic theoretical, but I never really cared much for that class anyway." He paused, searching for more things to say. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had taken his OWLs, though in reality it was only earlier that day he had taken his last one. "I wish I had studied more for Transfiguration and Herbology, and I know I totally flunked the Divination OWL, but that's all passed now. Can't do much about it, I suppose. Divination was just a farce anyway."

"Yeh should study more, Harry," Hagrid chided.

It was the end of the year, for goodness sake. He didn't want to hear about how much more he should have studied. He was sure that if Hermione were awake, he'd be hearing the same thing from her. He just thought that everyone thinks they should have studied more after a test.

"So, anything new, Hagrid? How's Grawp?"

"Oh, Grawpy's good, Harry, thanks fer askin'. 'E's loads better behavin'. 'E learned a new word the other day. Fores'. But, well, it's not as clear as all tha'. As fer me, nuffin too new there. I did plant some Giant Radishes out back. Yeh should see 'em when they're done. Be as big as yer head. I do love me some radishes."

"Yeah, they're, uh, pretty good." Harry slowly sipped his steaming hot tea. Fang was sitting on the floor, his head on Harry's knee, and a stream of drool trailing down his pant leg. For a moment all was silent except for the scraping of Harry's enormous mug of tea on the tabletop, and Fang's panting. Harry had had enough.

"Uh, well, I have to get back to the Hospital Wing. I told them I'd be right back, see…" Harry was surprised how easily the lie slipped out.

"Oh, alrigh', Harry. You take care of yerself. Come back if you have a mo', yeh hear?"

Harry stood up and walked towards the door. "Uh, right. But the thing is, Hagrid, Dumbledore's sending me back today. I have to go back to the Dursleys."

"Oh, well then I guess yeh can't be visitin'. But Dumbledore knows what's bes'. I guess I'll jes' see yeh next year then, Harry. Take care."

"Yeah, you too, Hagrid," and then Harry was out.

As soon as Harry had stepped off of Hagrid's front step, he began to run. At first the only thing he knew was that he couldn't go back to the castle. He ran and ran as fast as he could, getting out all his frustrations of the past week of stress, and suddenly he was at the edge of the lake. The lake was still, its surface reflecting the silvery-blue of the sky like a mirror. He swerved, running along the far side of the lake from the castle. He ran along the edge of the lake, skirting the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He ran until his lungs felt like they were fit to burst, and his thighs and calves ached from abuse. He stopped, but it was almost as hard to stop as it was to keep running.

Harry plopped on the ground, too tired to move any more. The sky was a very light blue, but for on the horizon, which was tinted in pinks and oranges by the rising sun. By this time, he had almost reached the far side of the lake from the castle. He could see it in the distance, windows reflecting the sun, shining like a beacon. It was full of sleeping students, happy and relieved now that exams were done, all unaware of the threat that lurked over all their heads. It was early now, and students would be sleeping in their warm beds, after having partied all night after their exams.

It made him feel all the more lonely, sitting here all alone by the lake. It was a stark contrast to what he knew everyone else must be feeling. Harry felt as if there were nobody else in the world that knew how he was feeling. Confused, angry, everything. Not even his own friends knew. It was a depressing thought. It felt as if the entire year had been one depressing emotional roller coaster. All year he had been so angry all the time, and Dumbledore had avoided him, and Umbridge harassed him, and the entire Wizarding World, including some of his friends— and quite a few acquaintances— turned on him because they thought him crazy. After all that, this last little bit of drama that made him more isolated, more different, almost felt like too much.

Now that Harry was alone, he took some time to think. He wanted to think more about Dumbledore and what had been said about him, but he knew he was still too angry with him to think about that right now. He should wait until he was feeling more level headed. So he thought about his adventure in the Department of Mysteries. He wasn't sure how he felt about that night. Knew, logically, that it was the room that made Mr. Malfoy and him act that way. But at the same time, Dumbledore had said that if there wasn't any attraction of emotions to build on, nothing would have happened. Which meant that there was some sort of attraction on both sides. Should he have resisted? _Could_ he have? How much of his actions, and his lack of remorse, really his, and how much were an influence from that blasted room? And it was a bit shocking to him, really, how little regret he had for that night.

He had lost his virginity, something that he knew the Wizarding World, with their at times archaic beliefs, held most dear. And he had lost it to someone that Harry could think of a multitude of reasons why he should have waited. First of all, he was a man, although Harry suspected that the Wizarding World had fewer problems with that than did the Muggle World. Second of all, he was a Death Eater, and what was most likely Voldemort's right-hand man at that. Third, he was old enough to be his father. But only that, but he actually _did_ have a son that was Harry's age, a son that was Harry's school rival. Fourth, he was _married. _To a woman. Fifth, he had tried to kill his best friend's little sister in Harry's second year, or at least had facilitated it. Sixth, there was that family feud between the Malfoys and Weasleys, though he personally didn't understand it. _Seventh_, he was a rich, cold-hearted, pompous asshole. From what he had heard of the man, Harry wouldn't be surprised if he tortured kitties and puppies for fun. He was cold and arrogant in public, and seemed to always be wearing a perpetual sneer. He always got his way. He believed he was better than everybody else. He had a plethora of Dark objects and knew who knows how many Dark curses. He insulted and ingratiated in turns. He was a slimy, smarmy Slytherin.

But Harry remembered what he looked like at the height of passion. He remembered he intense joy and lust on his face as he thrust into Harry. It was a face completely without masks. Frankly, Harry wasn't sure if anyone had ever seen him look like that, ever. To him, Lucius Malfoy was some sort of puzzle, and Harry was intrigued. He wanted to know how so cold a man could be so passionate. Lucius had caressed his body, and peppered him with kisses. He had moaned loudly and cried out his passion with abandon. It was as if Harry was his entire world in those moments. Looking back on it, it felt as if they had been making passionate love, although at the time it had felt like fucking. Harry suspected that things were not what they seemed.

Harry himself was shocked at his own actions. Although when it came down to pressurized situations he had little regard for the rules, in general, he tried to obey the rules— at least the ones that made sense. Umbridge could go screw herself. _Egh, or maybe not. _But it might have been the room, or the situation, but he had slept with Lucius Malfoy without a second thought. And he wanted to do it again. A lot. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Like, it could have been that he was a hormonal teenage boy reliving losing his virginity in the hottest way possible, but it almost seemed more than that. He had always had a lot of control over his desires. Growing up with the Dursleys getting everything, and having hardly anything himself taught him how to disregard his own desires. But this was hard to ignore.

He finally understood the words 'the seduction of darkness' now. They meant it literally. He remembered the feel of Lucius in him, it burned but felt so good at the same time. To have something that dark and powerful inside of him had been amazing, thrilling, and a little scary. And being in such close proximity, Lucius's dark power had washed around them as they had sex. It stole his breath away. It had felt like a physical thing, like velvet, both soft and hard at the same time. It encased them as they moved, feeling like a lover's caress. He couldn't be sure, as he had nothing to compare it to, but he was positive that if he found pleasure with someone else, the experience wouldn't be nearly as mind-blowing. Even with another Dark wizard, while Harry might feel the wizard's dark power encasing him, Lucius stood apart in the fact that he was incredibly attractive, mind-bogglingly good in bed, and very powerful magically.

He could understand the temptation of the Dark Arts now, if just a little, if that was how it felt to cast it. It felt beyond anything he had ever felt before. It was addictive; it got under his skin. He knew it was wrong, that he was supposed to be full of morals and be the _upstanding Boy-Who-Lived, _but it swam through his veins like a drug and burned under his skin. It was like a parasite, eating away at his self control. And he wanted it again. He wanted Lucius again.

Harry crossed his arms over his bent knees, thinking. With a jolt, he noticed a mark on his right forearm. That certainly hadn't been there before. It was an odd symbol, made up of two flowing 'S' curves that crossed at the centers. There was a definite head and tail to them, too; they each had a diamond shaped head and a tapered tail. To tell the truth, to Harry it sort of looked like a flowy swastika. It truly looked like a birthmark, just darker than his own skin, and the same shade, but still distinctly visible.

He didn't remember ever having heard of mysterious marks appearing. It had to have shown up in the last twenty four hours. Unless it was just a coincidence, this mark had to in some way be connected to Harry losing his virginity. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that there was some sort of magic linked to a wizard's sexual status, seeing as even muggle fairy tales involved sacrificing virgins and all that. But the fact of the matter was, he had never heard of anything of the sort. And considering that he was sure a good number of his peers were sexually active, and he hadn't so much as heard a whisper of any changes taking place after the act. And he definitely hadn't noticed odd birth marks showing up, either.

If he wanted to research it, he would have to do it today. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to research until school was back in session. But he needed sleep, and he was already starting to feel fuzzy around the edges from lack of sleep. And his instincts were telling him not to worry. It didn't hurt, nothing had been feeling strange lately, and he felt fine. He had learned enough about his instincts by know to know to trust them. If he had time, he would find a way to research it, but for now, he had better things to do. He put the mark out of his mind for now.

Harry sat contemplating and watching the sun rise. Birds chirped noisily, flying in the early morning light. Behind him, in the forest, he could hear the sounds of animals waking up and calling to each other. He watched until it was level with the turrets of the castle. By then he was quite cold from just sitting and thinking. Then he got up, dusted himself off, and walked briskly back to the castle. He had almost reached the doors when he heard, like a whisper in the wind, _"Sugoi, Sugoi, ahí estás." _

ooooooooooooooooo

Harry lay in bed, all alone in the dormitory. Seamus and Dean had already gotten up and bounced off to celebrate the end of OWLs. Neville and Ron were still in the Hospital Wing. Despite not having slept at all the night before, he couldn't sleep. He was tired, exhausted even, but he could do nothing but lay in bed, tossing and turning. He needed something to relax him. Almost without his knowing it, his right hand had slowly crept into his pajama pants, and he found himself slowly stroking and rolling his balls.

Flashes of the night before rushed through his mind. He remembered Lucius on him, in him. Lucius Malfoy was a superb lover, not like Harry really had anyone to compare him to. It was just what he had gathered from his own, fumbling experiences, and watching those of others. Harry, when they made love, felt as if he was Lucius' entire world in that one moment. Lucius focused all his attention on him, slowly seducing him with caresses and kisses. His face was unmasked, the passion that he felt, for once open on his face. Harry wasn't sure if he could ever have another lover that would compare to Lucius Malfoy. He had taken his time with Harry, slowly seducing him, with no care for the world that was just outside the room. Harry, who had been previously inexperienced save for that kiss with Cho Chang, had 'run all the bases' in one night. It was amazing. They had been in the Ministry, fighting on different sides of a Battle, and then, Harry's classmates, Order members, and other Death Eaters had been searching for them, but Lucius had taken his time as if they had had all night. Harry remembered his favorite parts of the night. The fierce kisses, the passionate kisses, the sloppy mid-thrust kisses. The feel of Lucius's incredibly soft, warm hand on him. Lucius running the tip of his tongue along Harry's stomach, slowly tracing invisible lines only he could see. He loved the feeling of power, having the powerful and stoic Lucius Malfoy writhing and moaning. Knowing that it was him that was reducing the man so far.

Harry lay in bed, still breathing hard, and slightly dazed from his intense orgasm. He stared at his bed hangings. Wow. Slowly, he came back to Earth. He was too sated to be ashamed at what he had done. Slowly, he reached out a slightly shaking hand to grab his wand and cast a cleaning charm on his stomach. Now he was relaxed. He rolled over, already half asleep, set his alarm to wake him in five hours, and drifted into dreamland.

* * *

If you want to see the mark that Harry has on his arm (it's quite hard to explain) it looks sort of like this, but without the weird outline-y thing, and with two snakes instead of one:

upload. wikimedia. org/ wikipedia/commons/e/e2/Sugaar. jpg

(take out the spaces)


	4. Interlude 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

AN: I had to take out some of the smutty stuff, AGAIN, in accordance to FFN's TOS. If you'd like to read it, let me know, and I'll consider getting an account somewhere else so you can read what I wrote. I tried to leave some stuff in, so you can get an idea of what happens.

And sorry if taking out the smutty stuff makes things make little sense. I did have to leave in some more explicit stuff, because it helps explain Lucius's attraction to Harry, though. So sorry if that abuses your delicate sensibilities.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

INTERLUDE:

Lucius walked past the hearth, his hands trailing along the mantel. He walked towards the window, and rubbed the deep velvet fabric of the curtains. Last night had been very interesting indeed. Quite intriguing. Summer was quickly approaching, and a warm breeze wafted in through the open window. He considered the enigma that was Harry Potter. How could Dumbledore's Golden Boy turn out to be so delectably easy to corrupt? How was it possible for one to be so innocent and yet so calculating at the same time? He remembered the shrewd look in his eyes, that contrasted so greatly with the artlessness that came directly before and after. How could a boy be so devious, but project an air of pure incorruptibility to those he was lying to? Harry had shown his intelligence and knowledge when he had made excuses for Lucius's presence in the Ministry when his little guardians had come. Lucius found himself irrevocably caught. Which was the real Harry Potter, the innocent minx, or the cunningly intelligent man-child? Did he pretend to be Hogwarts' hero, or did he pretend to be the scheming, lying snake? Or was it both?

He recalled their time together. Though it was short, it was very intense. He thought of Harry under him, writhing and moaning wantonly. He was definitely inexperienced, but that was his charm. So innocent, and so, so intense. If there was one thing that attracted Lucius, well, besides power, it was intensity. And if Harry Potter was one thing, it was _intense. _He had kept his eyes on Lucius the entire time, until Lucius had flipped him over. He had been caught by the look in those intense green eyes: pleasure, innocence, happiness, trust, strength, and something unnamable. They all passed through his eyes at some point or another, boring into Lucius. And then the utter wantonness and pleasure.

Lucius admitted to himself that he had lost himself a little while having sex with the teen. He was getting hard in his trousers just thinking about it. Lucius stifled a moan at the recollection of their time together. Harry's reactions, so pure and unadulterated, so unfiltered. The teen was incredibly responsive. Lucius unbuttoned his trousers, still standing in front of the open window. He took himself in hand. He recalled the sounds of their lovemaking; the slapping of flesh, the groans, sighs, whimpers, screams, hisses, gasps. Lucius had always been an aurally oriented person, especially during sex. Hearing all the sexy, nasty sounds always turned him on, and the louder the session, the hornier he was. Oh, what he would do to that boy if he ever had him again.

Harry was definitely powerful magically. He could see, now, how such a little slip of a thing could be a threat to his lord. Being buried to the hilt in that power was intoxicating. It had surged, fiery hot around him. Being connected at his most intimate, sensitive parts to that power had blinded his other senses. It had seared him from his nether regions outward. So hot and warm and good. It was part of what drew him to Harry. All that power wrapped in such a delicate, innocent package. The package was definitely easy on the eyes, too. Power and lust. What a heady combination. He was already horny from thinking about Harry for what felt like all day, and it didn't take long for him to release into his hand.

Lucius wasn't embarrassed, as some might be after wanking in front of an open window. But he had known that there was no chance of being seen. His rooms were private; Narcissa never came in, house elves knew not to enter when he occupied the room unless expressly called, and the manor was on private grounds and so there was no chance of a stray passerby outside. He calmly drew his wand and vanished the evidence. That done, he went and sat in front of the fire, a glass of cognac already waiting for him next to his chair.

Harry Potter was a puzzle, one that he intended to solve. He had had many lovers in his life, but none like Harry. He had never before been as interested in a person has he had been with Harry, and never so quickly, either. Only Severus came close, but the attraction there was fleeting. Severus was attractive in his own way, but he could not compare to Harry. The dark haired teen was simply beautiful. He was the perfect mix of masculine and feminine. He was small, lithe, with big hunter green doe eyes, and with skin that was oh so creamy and soft. What he felt definitely wasn't love. It was an attraction, an intrigue that had to be satisfied. And he was a Malfoy, and pureblooded wizard, the Lord of a massive estate, he would get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted, whether it was legal or not. And he wanted Harry. At least until his attention waned (a small part of him that might have been considered his heart had it been a little bigger, thought that his attention was unlikely to wane). And to tell the truth, he admitted to himself, even if his lord disapproved, he would still find a way to do it. It was his life, and as much as he believed in the cause, the Dark Lord had no real right to dictate his love life. His personal life, yes, but not his love life. And maybe if he played his cards just right, he could get his lord to approve. Lucius smirked, and finished off his cognac.


	5. Qu’on M’a Fait

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 5: Qu'on m'a fait

After his nap, Harry woke and began packing. He didn't have too much to pack, considering that all his belongings fit into the one trunk. He always packed every single one of his things when he left the Dursley's, unlike his friends that he knew were able to leave things at home over the school year. In comparison, Harry had very few things. Which was why it astonished him how it was possible for so few things to be scattered throughout the dormitory. He even suspected some things might have found their way into the common room, or into another person's possession, but figured that if he hadn't missed it yet, it wasn't that important— or at least he hoped this was the case. Harry had always been able to keep a good track on his belongings, knowing what was his and where it was. He supposed it was because he had been denied so many things growing up— and the fact that he always had to have been very organized in order to survive in the Dursley household. He figured as long as he had his Firebolt, Marauder's Map, photo album, invisibility cloak, and wand, he was happy. Other than that, he also needed his books, for summer work, if he could find the opportunity to do it, toiletries, clothes, and a stash of food. If there was anything he forgot, his friends could owl it to him, or wait till they saw him next.

As he was going through his trunk to discard any trash, in order to make more room in his trunk, he noticed a shoddily wrapped package in the bottom of his trunk. He lifted it out; he didn't remember buying this at all. Suddenly he remembered what it was. Sirius had given it to him at Christmas, telling him not to open it right away, and he had stuffed it in a pocket and forgotten about it. He had said to use it if he needed him. Harry opened the package, and saw that it was a mirror. On the back, Sirius had written what it was and how to use it; it was a two way mirror. Harry felt infinitely stupid in that one moment. If he had remembered to open the package, if he had known, the entire night could have been avoided. Instead he had tried to floo Sirius, gotten tricked by Kreacher, and gotten caught by Umbridge. It would have been a secure, secret way to get a hold of Sirius without getting in trouble or being deceived.

He still resented what people had said to him since he had gotten back. It seemed that everyone was chiding him for his irresponsible behavior. They were treating him like a wayward child, damn it! He hated, absolutely hated, being talked down to. But at the same time, he felt stupid and embarrassed about how easily he had been tricked, and about not realizing about the mirror. Harry, sat on the floor in front of his trunk, alone in the dorm room, pursed his lips. He resolved to not make a mistake like this in the future. It had turned out okay, but such a small action had had hugely overarching repercussions. He couldn't afford to make mistakes in the future. He wouldn't allow himself to be anything less than perfect— or as close to perfect as he could get. He vowed to think through his decisions more, and be less rash. The stakes would surely be upped, very quickly. Many things depended on him, although he was only fifteen years old, his actions affected many people teenagers and adults. He nodded his head. He could do this.

Later, when his packing was completed, Harry changed into muggle clothes so he wouldn't have to worry about it later. He had about an hour before dinner. It was just enough time to visit the Hospital Wing to say goodbye.

Harry hesitated outside the door to the Hospital Wing. He wasn't sure of the reception he would get when he walked through the doors. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he should've waited a little, so he would have only had a few minutes to say good bye. That way, if it was awkward, at least it wouldn't have been for that long. Figuring there was nothing for it, he tentatively pushed the door open.

All the occupants of the room were up when Harry entered. Luna and Ginny were sitting in chairs between their friends. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were nowhere to be found. Ginny and Ron were bantering animatedly, bickering like only close siblings could. The conversation stalled, just a moment, like they were prone to do when someone new came in. Then it started up, just as lively as ever, as if it had never happened.

"Harry, how are ya, mate? Seems you got out unscathed." Ron cheerfully greeted. Harry knew— or at least he hoped— that the comment was not meant to be a jibe to him, but he felt it anyway.

"Yeah, Ron, I'm good. How are you feeling?"

"Eh, nothing I haven't felt before, really." Harry could tell that Ron was being deliberately lighthearted.

"That's not quite true." Oh, Hermione. So literal.

"Well, I guess that's true," Ron conceded, "I guess they don't really know what's wrong with me. I mean, I feel fine, for the most part. Just… not quite right, you know?"

"They asked the Ministry? No one knows? Not even the Unspeakables?"

"Not really. I'm not sure if the Unspeakables would even really say anything. You know how they are… all not speaky and stuff."

Harry chuckled, although he didn't find anything particularly funny.

"Well, as long as you feel find, everything should be okay, right?"

"Yeah. That's what I say. They think that it might have some _long term repercussions _or some such rot. I don't know, personally. I mean, it can't be that bad, right? Right?" Harry thought Ron seemed a little too adamant that he was alright, but hoped that his optimism was founded. He turned to Hermione.

"So, do they know what hit you?"

"No. They are pretty sure it was some obscure Dark Arts spell, but no one's ever heard of it. Even Snape said he's never got that far into the Dark Arts. Unless it's a new spell."

"How do you feel?"

"Really sore all over. And it's hard to move, to bend my joints. It almost feels like arthritis or something. They were able to fix some problems, but not all. I came in with a gash on my stomach, and a concussion, but they were able to fix me up."

"I'm sorry that you got hurt so badly. Hopefully your aches will get better with time. "

"I'm sure they will," Ginny said optimistically.

"How are you three feeling?"

All three replied that they were feeling just fine, if not a little sore.

"So, how are you feeling, Harry?"

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt, really."

Harry already knew, at least in general, what had happened to them the night before after they had all gotten separated. When Harry had visited earlier, Ginny and Neville had kept away from the subject of what had happened, by a silent general consensus, but Harry knew that all best were off now, especially now that he was leaving in a couple of hours. He knew what was coming next—

"So, Harry, what happened to you?" Yup, he was right. He decided to stick with the story that he had told in the Headmaster's office earlier. Not like he would really tell a different story, at least in front of Ginny, Neville and Luna, and definitely not where anyone could hear.

"I, well, after we got separated, Lucius Malfoy—"

"That bastard!" Ron interrupted.

"Ron, language!" Hermione reprimanded.

"—chased me around a bit. We got lost, and he chased me down a hallway full of doors and into a room. The Room of Desire—"

"Oooo, The Room of Desire, Harry? What does that do?" That was Ginny.

"Er, well, Dumbledore—"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry."

"—said that it makes you act on your desires and lowers your inhibitions or something."

"Sounds like fun."

"Ginny!"

There was something strange about the flow of the conversation; it was almost as if it was forced. A little _too _normal, if that was possible. Harry suspected it was his influence. He hoped they didn't suspect anything. Then again, he wondered if this was the way things were like, before all his anger, before all the shit of the last year, and maybe even the last two years. Maybe it had just been so long that he had felt normal like this, without some resentment in the way, that it felt strange now.

"Anyway, he chased me in there. And I started feeling dizzy, and, like, fuzzy or something. And he followed me in and started cursing me and threatening me, but it was different than before. Like, he didn't really mean it or something. And then he stopped."

"He just stopped? What do you mean?"

"That's what Moody said. Yeah, he stopped. Professor Dumbledore thinks it was the room acting on him or something. Anyway, we just stood there for a little bit, I don't know how long cause I was feeling pretty dizzy, and then Remus came in and got me. And that's it."

"But Harry, I don't understand. How come he just stopped cursing you? Why did things change when he got in the room? Lord Malfoy is a pretty controlled man, I can't imagine him giving in to the room like that. Why were you feeling dizzy. And if it was the Room of Desire, shouldn't you have been having sex, or something?"

"Hermione!"

"What? It's a legitimate question."

Harry knew that if anyone were to find any holes in his story, it would be Hermione. Luckily, he had already gone through this with Dumbledore, so he had answers readily available. And if there were something he couldn't answer, he could always say that no one knew, least of all him, because it was an ongoing experiment, and the Ministry wouldn't tell them, anyway.

"Well, it was all the room, you see? It affected him and me, so his curses and stuff didn't quite work. And his heart wasn't quite in it anymore, so he just stopped. And I know he's a very controlled man, but we don't know how strong that room was."

"And the sex?"

Harry blushed inadvertently. Oh, if they only knew.

"Well, the Headmaster thought that since there were no desires to work on, neither of us did anything. No one knew what would happen to two people who didn't like each other if they were put in the room together."

"I suppose that makes sense."

Harry hoped that she wouldn't look any deeper into his story, just in case something unraveled.

"So, I don't know if you've heard, but I've got to go home today. Dumble- Professor Dumbledore's sending me back early, to _appease the Board of Governors _or some such."

"Oh, that sucks, mate. But maybe you can come for the last part of summer."

"Yeah, I was hoping so. If I can't be with Sirius. I was hoping that I would be able to spend time with him, but Professor Dumbledore hasn't said anything so far."

The six students continued to talk for another twenty minutes. It was so normal. Six students talking. If they weren't in the Hospital Wing, Harry would think that they could be anyone, anywhere. While part of him was glad to be back with his friends— he had been feeling lonely— another part of him felt odd at the utter normality of it all. It felt to him as if everything had changed, at least in him, and they had stayed the same. He hoped that he hadn't outgrown his friends.

Had he really changed that much? Harry thought that yes, he had. Just in the past day, nothing to mention of the entire year, he had lost his virginity to an enemy, lied about it, and ditched his friends in the middle of a fight. And that was besides all the other things, of which there were so many he could hardly name (breaking and entering, deceit, destruction of property came to him off the top of his head before he cut them off). He didn't want to think about it. Did it make him a bad person that, when they had led Professor Umbridge into the forest, he was hoping that she would die? Harry hoped it didn't.

"Well, I have to get going to dinner," Harry finally said.

"Oh, Harry, thanks for coming to see us."

"Yeah, and try not to let those Muggle get you down, mate."

"Thanks, Ron. Listen, I'll try to sneak out to see if I can meet you lot when you all get into King's Cross at the end of term. See how you're doing, say goodbye to everyone and all that. Alright?" If there was another reason why he wanted to go, he didn't mention it.

"Yeah, if those Muggle let you out."

"I'll try to find a way."

"Alright. Well, see you later, Harry."

"Bye, guys."

As he stood up to leave, Luna grabbed his arm and yanked him down.

She whispered in his ear, "It doesn't matter what other people think. Sometimes the hardest decision of all is to do something for yourself."

"Er… okay, Luna. Thank you. Uh. See you later."

Harry dragged his feet the entire way to the Headmaster's office. It was raining heavily outside. The night sky was pitch black from the heavy clouds pouring out huge droplets of rain. It matched his mood perfectly. Just as he was standing in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance, he realized that although he greatly dreaded going back to the Dursleys, it would still be nice to have some time to himself, even if it was doing chores. No curious friends nagging him, no exams, no professors that had it in for him.

When he entered the office, the Headmaster, Moody, Kingsley, and Snape were waiting for him. He mentally groaned. Harry hoped, very fervently, that this wouldn't be his escort. Of course, knowing his luck just because Harry hoped against it, it would happen. Sirius and Remus, he noted, were nowhere to be seen. He figured that they had been sent on a mission the straight away, like Sirius had suspected. Harry decided to ask Dumbledore for permission to stay just one last time.

"Please, Professor Dumbledore, can I please stay here until summer starts? I won't go to classes or anything, you can put me under house arrest or something."

Snape sneered in the background.

"No, Harry. I'm afraid that my decision stands."

Harry felt a bitter resentment swell through him. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent. I have taken the liberty of having the house elves deliver your trunk here," he pointed beside his desk, and Harry was shocked to see that, indeed, his trunk was already sitting there, with Hedwig's empty cage on top. "Now, you will be escorted by these three gentlemen directly to the Dursleys. I have made a portkey to take you there."

Dumbledore held out a broken picture frame, with no picture inside of it.

"Grab on, it will activate in two minutes."

Harry reluctantly shuffled closer to the man. Moody had grabbed the frame first and was holding it out for Shacklebolt and Snape. Harry bent down to grab a hold of his trunk and touched a finger to the picture frame. Shacklebolt, to the right of Harry, silently lent down and gathered Hedwig's cage in his hand.

"Sir, will you send Hedwig along?"

"Yes, Harry. Have a good summer."

Harry inwardly scoffed at that; it would likely be anything but, but he replied politely anyway. "Thank you sir, you too."


	6. Ni Le Mal

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 6: Ni Le Mal

Harry felt a tug behind his navel and a sickening whirl of colors and sounds blurred past him. He had to close his eyes to prevent himself from getting sick. This was a type of transportation that he didn't think he would ever get accustomed to. This portkey lasted quite a bit longer than the last had, presumably because he was traveling farther. Finally, the spinning stopped, and Harry found himself rocketing towards the ground, his trunk clutched tightly in one hand. The other three touched down as Harry thudded to the ground, half landing on his trunk, and half on the ground. Moody grunted in what could have been amusement. It was hard to tell. Looking up, he found himself at the edge of Magnolia Crescent, at what he assumed to be the edge of the wards. It hadn't been raining, but it seemed that as soon as he touched down, a light wind picked up and the sky began to darken.

"Come on, Potter, no time to waste," Moody said gruffly.

A few minutes of walking later, they stood on the front lawn of the Dursley house. By now the sky had begun to spit rain. The moon cast an eerie blue light on all the identical houses of Privet Drive. He could see Petunia and Vernon watching TV through the slightly parted curtains of the front window. Harry was absolutely dreading what was to come. Moody was already up on the front steps, knocking at the door.

"Hello? What is this?" Vernon answered the door.

"Mr. Dursley, I'm Alastor Moody. We're here to make sure Potter gets home safe."

Harry could tell, even from where he was on the front walk, that Vernon's blood pressure was building dangerously. His face was rapidly becoming red, and the hand resting on the door was beginning to turn white with his grip.

"What? You have the nerve to come at this time at night to interrupt us? What's this about the boy?"

"If we could come in, Mr. Dursley, we could explain in private." Shacklebolt intercepted smoothly.

Vernon looked to be debating letting them into the house, but eventually the need for privacy won, "Yes. Do come in. Quickly."

Vernon's eyes darted between each man as they entered. Moody, dressed as shoddily as ever, contrasted greatly to the austere clothing of Shacklebolt and Snape. They must have looked official, or at least intimidating, for his expression cleared slightly. He led them into the sitting room, where Petunia was waiting, standing with a shocked expression on her face.

"Please sit down," Vernon said. Harry was surprised that he bothered to say 'please' at all to people that were obviously wizards.

"Vernon, what are they doing here?"

"They were bringing back that Potter boy. I was about to ask them myself." The last seemed to be a question directed at the Head Auror, as he seemed to deem the other two too intimidating or too _different _to deal with. Harry wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not, because if he had addressed Snape, it was no doubt that Snape would spare no moment to criticize Harry. Moody was a potential live wire in that regard, and Shacklebolt, he hoped, would be the most fair.

"Mr. Potter and his friends were involved in an incident last night. It has been deemed for the best by the Headmaster that Harry return early."

"What kind of incident?"

"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to say."

Vernon and Petunia merely looked at him blankly. They knew nothing of the life that Harry led in the Wizarding world, and thus didn't have any clue whatsoever what kid of _incident _Harry could be involved in. They also hadn't seemed to come to the conclusion that he had been forced to leave as a disciplinary action.

After a few moments of silence, Snape, it seemed, had had enough, "He has been suspended for breaking into the Ministry and almost getting his friends killed."

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Fuckity Fuck fuck. Harry closed his eyes. He was going to be in so much trouble. Fuck. Harry really hated Snape at that moment. He just couldn't miss an opportunity to make Harry's life hell, could he?

With a sudden huge crack of lightening and thunder, the sky began to pour buckets.

"WHAT?!" Vernon roared. He was quickly bypassing pink and turning puce.

"Severus, that wasn't necessary." Shacklebolt chided. "He was involved in a confrontation with some… terrorists. It was decided that it would be safer if Mr. Potter were to return home before the end of the school year."

Vernon was visibly trying to restrain himself, but he still kept shooting venomous glares at Harry that promised pain later, and his face was still purple.

"I understand. Will he be allowed back next year?"

"Of course. This is just temporary."

"Yes. Is there anything else?"

"No. We were just to make sure that he made it here safe." Shacklebolt stood.

"Yes. Well, here he is."

"So he is. Thank you for your time." The three wizards were walking out of the sitting room towards the front door. "Harry, behave. And be safe. Try not to leave too much."

Harry was already entering into the mindset of Harry, the freak, rather than Harry, the Boy Who Lived. He wanted dearly for Shacklebolt to threaten Vernon into submission, or to say something about the treatment he received at the Dursleys, but he held his tongue. He stood in the front entrance of the Dursley house, looking at the floor.

"Yes, sir."

Shacklebolt rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Bye Mr. Potter."

"Goodbye, sir."

As soon as the door closed Vernon stepped up behind Harry, but he said nothing. He just stood, menacingly close to Harry, breathing hard in his anger. About a minute later Petunia peeked her head out of the sitting room door.

"They're gone."

"BOY! What were you thinking, bringing _your kind _into our home? What if the neighbors had seen?" Vernon was working up a steam, "And being suspended and having to be escorted home?! You worthless ingrate! You are nothing but trouble, mark my words, boy. And it seems that they have finally come to realize that fact too. Suspended! Terrorists! Killing your friends! Breaking in to the Ministry! YOU! I can't believe you!"

It seemed that Vernon was so angry and stupid that he had lost the ability to make a sensible reprimand. "What's next, you little criminal, murdering and doing drugs? You are a worthless little murderer. A drain on society. After all that we've done for you, you go and get suspended! Worthless little ingrate! You're nothing but a _freak. _"

Harry merely kept his head down and hoped for the best.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Vernon grabbed Harry by the nape of his neck and got up in his face, "No food for a _week._"

Harry secretly thought that it wasn't that bad of a punishment, as he had gone for food for a week many times in his childhood, the most recent times being when he had spoken to the snake at the London Zoo, and then summer before third year when Mrs. Number 7 had accused him of ruining her lawn. He hadn't, of course, but he got the punishment anyway.

"I'll teach you to be some lawless miscreant. I'll teach you!"

Vernon, his hand still on the nape of Harry's neck, hauled him to the door of the cupboard under the stairs. As it had been years since Harry had used it has his bedroom, it was chock full of junk. Giving a roar of frustration, Vernon dragged Harry up the stairs and to his room. Once there, he threw Harry on the ground roughly. As he was too fat to reach Harry, lying on the ground as he was, with his fists, he made do with kicking Harry as hard as he could. He drew back his meaty leg and slammed it into Harry's ribcage with a sickening _thwack_. Every place he could reach, he slammed his shoed foot into. His arms, his torso, his jaw, and even Harry's legs were subject to being hit. Harry lied on the floor, curled in a ball with one hand covering his head and the other covering his privates. This too was nothing new. Granted, it was worse than everyday beatings, as being slapped, punched, or hit with a frying pan was nothing new to him. Vernon, being as big as he was, had quite a kick. Harry could feel multiple bones breaking, including his arm and jaw bone. He just lay on the ground, grunting and trying not to scream. Soon, Vernon tired, too unused to physical exertion to punish Harry for too long. A dark part of Harry laughed, because his first thought was, _It could have been worse, _and yet there he was, laying on the ground.

Suddenly, his uncle was back, though Harry hadn't realized that he had left. In his hand he held a thick metal chain and two locks. He used one side of the chain and one of the locks on Harry's ankle, and fastened the other side to the frame of Harry's bed.

"There, now you're chained up like the dog you are." Vernon laughed. With one last hard, open handed slap to Harry's face, he left the room, making sure to lock all the locks on his way out.

Harry was still tired from having gotten little sleep in the past 24 hours, and that compounded with the beating he had just gotten. He climbed onto his bed, and promptly fell asleep.

When Harry woke next, the sun shone through the slats in his window. Nothing had changed, but he hadn't expected it to. The only thing he regretted was that he hadn't had the foresight to figure out a way to have his stash of food _on him _when he was thrown in his room, as the stash of food was now in his trunk, which was surely locked under the stairs by now. Harry groaned. Although having no food for a week had been possible before, and even easy, now that he spent nine months eating regular meals at Hogwarts, it was going to be hard to suddenly go without food. Then again, if he tried to be positive, at least he had some fat reserves built up by now, or something. Luckily, he still had his wand, as Vernon hadn't thought to pull it out of his pocket when he locked Harry in. Unluckily, he couldn't use magic without getting expelled, for real this time. Fat lot of good that did him.

The next week passed by very slowly for Harry. He either sat or laid in his bed all day. He could literally feel his magic directing itself to mending his broken body. He could sense it, if he concentrated, weaving its insidious tendrils through his body. His magic always had concentrated on healing his body, ever since he was a child. Before he know about magic, he just thought he was a fast healer and decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. After healing, he would still be a little sore, and not able to move fully, but he wouldn't have any glaring injuries. He was sure the Dursleys both hated and loved this fact: hated it, because it curtailed his suffering, and loved it because it eliminated the evidence of abuse, and allowed him to get back to work sooner.

Now that he knew about magic, he could actually feel his magic working in his body to heal him. It was because of this that he had that theory about magic augmenting a wizard or witch's growth, and prolonging their life spans. He couldn't know if he would live as long as the average wizard yet (and his chances of living past his teenage years were made very low with the entire dark wizard population out for his blood), but he knew he was significantly shorter than the average witch or wizard. His magic, instead of making him taller, or age slower, had always been directed towards healing. In the scale of things, wizards being the tallest, and muggle women being the shortest, he was probably about average, or a little on the short side of average, for a muggle teenage woman. He absolutely hated it.

All in all, he was incredibly bored. He almost wished that they would make him do chores, just so he would have something to do. One could only wank so many times in a week. He would sleep, think, wank, sleep some more, play mental games with himself, wank again, stare out the window, and then more sleep. It did give him time to inspect his new birthmark, though. Sitting there, chained to his bed in his room, he regretted not having researched what it was. At least then he could think about it, instead of wonder what it was. He really had no clue. He wanted to think more on the Dumbledore situation, but though his anger had cooled some, it hadn't cooled enough. Sitting in his cell of a room, chained to the bed, he couldn't help but think, _This is his fault. _

Looking out the window was in turns fascinating and incredibly boring. He could only see a couple houses across the way, and only if he sat on the bed, stretching his arm and the chain as much as possible; so if the neighbors weren't out, all he could do was hope for a stray animal to wander into his field of vision. The monotony was only broken once a day when he was let out to go to the bathroom, and given a glass of juice, or water. A couple of times, Vernon came in after work to take out his frustrations, and 'teach Harry a lesson,' but usually he just seemed to forget about Harry.

Part way through his incarceration, the Dursleys left and came back with Dudley in tow. He looked as smug and huge and stupid as ever. Harry had hoped that having to actually unlock his door would prove to be too much work for Dudley, and he would leave him alone, but that hope lasted a day and a half. The next night, Harry woke to see a huge figure looming over him in the dark. He barely held back his reaction— screaming and going for his wand— but only when he realized that it was Dudley, and screaming would get him beaten again.

"What the _fuck, _Dudley?"

It was only then that he realized Dudley had one fat hand down his PJ pants. _What the fuck?? _Harry felt sick. Was Dudley doing what he thought he was doing? Harry sincerely hoped not. He realized he was lying in bed, no shirt on, and the sheet pulled down low. His chest was completely bare. His cousin looked like a deer caught in headlights. He paled considerably.

"Are you— are you doing what I think you're doing. _What the fuck, Dudley?!" _

"Uh, no, I was just seeing if you're actually here."

"With your hand down your pants?" he asked dryly.

"I-it was itchy! I think there's a bug in my pants! Yeah!"

Harry thought that the entire conversation was too stupid to continue. Granted, he was talking to Dudley, who had the mental prowess of a ten year old, so he should have figured. Dudley was now getting increasingly red in the face. His entire face and ears were turning bright scarlet. He was still sputtering useless excuses. Harry cocked his head and really looked at his cousin. Ah, so it seemed that all of Dudley's loud comments about girls, and his teasing of 'Harry the Fairy,' were all a front. Figured. He leered at Dudley.

"So, you're gay, huh?"

"WHAT?" Dudley shouted, "Of _course _not. I would never do that. Definitely not. It is so gross. I'm a man. I like girls. I'm not a shirt lifting fag!"

"Hm. Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Who you callin' a lady, fag?"

"It's Shakespeare, you idiot. It means that I think you're lying."

"A-am not! I mean it!"

Harry knew that his reluctance dame from the Dursley's absolute hate of anything not 'normal.' Homosexuality would never be 'normal' to them. He almost felt bad for his cousin for having to repress himself. Almost. Harry leered at Dudley. It was time for a little payback.

"Oh don't worry Dudley, it's not that bad. I'm gay."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. In fact, I just lost my virginity to a guy."

"Really," Dudley had an interested expression on his face.

"Yeah. An older man, too. Long blonde hair. _Real _fit, and strong."

"Strong?" Harry wasn't sure if Dudley would want someone stronger than he. He supposed that he might want someone smaller so he could feel big and manly.

"And the smoothest skin. All pale like alabaster."

"Alabaster?"

"Like marble, Dudley."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and real rich. A lord and everything."

"A real lord?" Dudley was very intrigued. Of course, being raised by the Vernon and Petunia, he had learned to value money above all else.

"Yeah. For real. He lives in a mansion. And has all sorts of servants."

"Wow…"

"Uh huh, and a big, thick cock."

Dudley looked like he didn't know whether to be embarrassed, grossed out, or turned on. Harry supposed this was the first time that he had ever heard those words spoken like that. So he reeled Dudley back in with something any hot-blooded teenage boy could relate to.

"And he sucked my dick like a pro. Must have been all those years of experience. I came in his mouth and he just swallowed it down."

"Yeah?" Dudley was enraptured, and Harry didn't know whether or not he was aware that his hand was working on his cock inside his PJ pants. "How did it feel when he was— I mean when you were doing— er— it?"

"It felt so good. It was so hot. He was thrusting into me and I could swear I saw stars. I could feel every inch of him thrusting into me and pulling out. He was so powerful and strong, hovering over me. And, oh, God, when he reached his hand around and jacked me off, it felt so good."

Dudley was enraptured. His hand was definitely working on his dick. Harry went in for the kill.

"AH! Look at you! Wanking to me getting buggered! You _fag! _You can't deny it now. You're a trouser dowsing, pillow biting fairy! Dudley's a faggot. _Fag._"

"Hey! I'm not! You're the gay one. You just admitted it." Dudley was distinctly flustered. It seemed he didn't know what to say.

"What'll your friends think? They won't like that their _Big D_ is bent. Big strong bully, and you're checkin' out their arses, are you?"

"No! Don't say that! I'm not gay!"

"No one will want to hang out with you any more. Might as well give up. Faggot."

"_Don't say that. I'm not gay! _Don't say it or else!"

"Say what, Dudley? That you're gay?"

"I'll make you regret this! Shut up! _Shut up."_

"Gay, gay, gay."

"SHUT UP! I'm going to get you!" Dudley took a step closer to Harry and raised his hand as if to hit him, boiling with rage and humiliation. Harry hoped that no one heard that.

"I'll tell your parents!" Harry rushed out in a quick breath.

Dudley paled drastically. Then he rallied "They wouldn't believe you over me. I'd just deny it."

"Yeah, but you can't deny that they'd still watch you like a hawk anyway. One wrong move and _bam, _they'd be on you."

Dudley weighed the truthfulness of that statement, and evidently Harry's logic won out, as he lowered his hand. He still looked very angry, though, just unsure of what to do. For him, violence was always the answer, but in this case, if he did anything to Harry, Harry would retaliate with something that would be unbearable for him. Luckily, Harry was counting on this fear to keep Dudley away, as he wasn't actually completely sure of what the Dursleys' reaction would be were he to tell them the truth.

"Good. Look, you stay away from me, and I won't tell them."

"Er…" Dudley thought, but it just made him look constipated. He eventually replied, "Alright."

"Good. Now _get the fuck out _"

Dudley hesitated, for what, Harry didn't know. But he didn't want to find out.

"Get _out! _Now!" Harry hissed, and lunged off the bed towards Dudley, though he knew he wouldn't reach him as he was still handcuffed. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Dudley started and left the room. Harry could hear the locks being replaced on the outside of his door. Merlin, if that wasn't weird. A Dudley who was questioning his sexuality? Harry shuddered. It just made it all the worse that he seemed to be taking out his fascination on Harry. Eugh. He sincerely hoped that his threat would keep Dudley away.


	7. Tout ça m’est bien égal!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 5: Tout ça m'est bien égal!

Coincidentally, the last day of Harry's lockdown and forced fasting was the same day that the Hogwarts Express was due in to King's Cross. Harry knew that it was going to get him in a mound of trouble— that is, more trouble than he was already in— but he had promised his friends that he would try to sneak out. Deep down, Harry wanted to see if he could get a glimpse of the good-looking Mr. Malfoy. Not that he would admit that to himself, wank fantasies or not.

That day it was Friday, shopping day for Mrs. Dursley, as it was the perfect balance in _too crowded _and _not crowded enough—_ the _not crowded enough _meaning that there was no one to spy on, gossip with, or show off to. So, his aunt Petunia came to his room before breakfast, pounded on his door to wake him up, and summarily commanded him to make them all breakfast. Harry scurried downstairs and was able to steal the heel of the bread while Petunia wasn't looking. Harry watched as they ate, cleaned the kitchen, got punched in the face by Vernon so he would 'remember to behave like a normal, law abiding person,' and was handed a list of chores to do that day by Petunia. Dudley left to go terrorize the neighborhood. Harry managed to disinfect the kitchen, clean the bathroom, vacuum, and mow the grass, all while planning his escape, before he figured it was time to leave. First, he needed to get into his trunk. Over the years, he had learned how to pick locks, although he wasn't the best at it, considering that locks were often on the opposite side of the door that he was on. So, he picked the lock on the outside of the cupboard under the stairs, although it took him a while, and removed his invisibility cloak, his stash of food (which he then promptly hid in his room— and then he thought again and also hid his photo album), his bag of galleons, and a bag of owl treats. In case he needed muggle money, he went to the couch in the sitting room, and dug in the couch cushions. For some reason, Petunia never cleaned in there, and it always yielded anywhere from two to ten pounds of change. As Harry had been gone for quite a while, Harry pulled out ten pounds of change.

Harry with both sets of money, his wand and invisibility cloak, he quickly ran back up the stairs.

He woke his owl, "Hedwig!"

Hedwig hooted tiredly at him. She hadn't had any food the past week, either. He handed her some crusts of toast.

He opened her cage, and let her step onto his arm. "You probably won't get enough food, or be able to stretch your wings enough if you stay here with me this summer, girl."

Hedwig hooted softly in agreement.

"I want you to go stay in the woods nearby, alright? I might need you every once in a while to deliver letters, but if you can hunt for food on your own, it'll be better. Just be really careful, okay? You're really easy to see in the dark. And try to stay kind of close, in case I need you."

Harry knew that Hedwig was very smart— almost freakishly smart, really. But, he supposed that was the beauty of Wizarding animals. Hedwig had been known to visit him just as he needed to send a letter, and always knew where to find him to deliver letters, even if he was in the dorms or in class. He didn't doubt that if he found himself needing to send a letter, she would know to come. It really was for the best that he let her out, just as long as she didn't get hurt. But she was a smart owl, she could stay out of danger.

So now, with his invisibility cloak, wand, two sets of money and an owl, he stepped into the back garden, just in case there was someone guarding the front that would become suspicious at the front door opening and closing by itself. He released Hedwig with one last nuzzle to her head, and watched her fly away. He hopped over the fence into the neighbor's yard, and then slipped out into the street. Once he was far enough away, he uncloaked himself, and raised his wand-hand to call the Knight Bus.

A couple seconds later, the violently purple bus appeared in front of Harry with a loud _bang! _

Stan leaned out of the bus, "'Arry! C'mon then!"

"Hi, Stan. Hi, Ernie," Harry greeted. "One ticket to King's Cross, please."

"Lessee, from Li'l Winging to London'll be eleven sickles, but for firteen you ge' 'ot tea, or for—"

"That's alright, Stan, just the ticket, please."

"Awright." Stan seemed unfazed by Harry's slightly brusque remark. "We'll be there in a jiffy."

"Thanks," Harry went and sat down in one of the armchairs on the lowest level, as it wouldn't take too long.

There was only one other passenger, a graying witch that didn't seem to be in any hurry, as she seemed to be asleep sitting up. The bus shuddered and jerked as it careened through the suburban area.

"London!"

Harry shakily stood. All Wizarding transportation, it seemed, was rough.

"Thanks, guys."

"No problem, 'Arry."

Harry had never been on the receiving end of the Hogwarts Express, but he wasn't too worried about the timing. He slipped in through the wall to platform nine and three quarters. There were a few families and the like milling about, some standing alone and some talking in groups. The train was due to arrive in about ten minutes. Harry wasn't sure the reception he would get, so at first he stood off to the side in a shaded corner and observed.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing somewhat near another red-headed man. It was Bill, he realized. He hadn't recognized him at first, because his body language suggested to Harry a certain degree of detachment from his parents that Harry was surprised about. All around the platform, he noticed groups of people that looked distinctly like students he knew. He realized that he had never before taken the time to look at other witches and wizards on the platform. It was sort of eerie, how similar some parents and siblings looked to his classmates. There were the Boots, the Changs, the Flints, the Creeveys, the Grangers, the Patils, and many more. With a start, he noticed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing in their own darkened corner. Narcissa had a sour expression on her face, as opposed to Lucius's haughty, blank expression. They were not talking, but just standing close to each other, as if their closeness would ward away the other wizards—which it did. Lucius was looking handsome and austere at the same time in a set of high necked navy blue robes. They hugged his well-built body down to the hips, and flared out slightly from there. A gap in the middle showed his matching navy blue trousers. He had his customary snake-head cane held loosely in his right hand. As if Lucius could feel eyes on him, his eyes slowly traveled the length of the platform until they lighted on Harry. Something flashed in his eyes, but Harry was too far away to tell what it was. Flustered, Harry turned away. His eyes sought out the Weasleys, who were now talking with the Grangers. He chanced a glance— more of a flash of the eyes than anything else— at Mr. Malfoy. He was still staring at Harry. Harry gathered himself and walked to the Weasleys and Grangers.

"Harry, how are you?" Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into a hug.

"I'm fine Mrs. Weasley. Hello Mr. Weasley, Bill, Dr. and Dr. Granger."

"Harry, what are you doing here? Why aren't you on the train?" the male Dr. Granger asked.

"Oh, uh, there was this thing…" Harry trailed off, unsure if he should explain what had happened in front of a whole platform of people. His eyes strayed to Mr. Malfoy of their own accord. A man had apparently gotten the nerve to approach him, though Lucius seemed supremely disinterested. Harry wasn't sure if it was deliberate, but the man's back was to him, and Lucius's eyes were boring into Harry from over the man's shoulder. Bill, it seemed, had noticed and was smirking at him from where he stood a few feet away.

"Oh, that's right. Honey, we got an owl about this." The female Dr. Granger inserted.

"We did?"

"Yes, honey. Hermione got hurt, remember? She was—"

Her husband interrupted her "Oh, that's right. I didn't realize. So you were there, Harry?"

Harry chanced a glance at Mr. Malfoy again. Yup, still looking.

"Of course he was there, darling. They're best friends."

"Er, yes, sir I was."

"And what are you doing here?"

"I got sent home early."

Although they said nothing disparaging, something changed in their expressions at that admission. They knew that getting sent home early meant being suspended. It seemed that Hermione got her priorities concerning school work from somewhere. Harry remembered first year when she evidently thought that getting expelled was worse than death. She had changed a lot since then, but her parents hadn't. Harry awkwardly turned to Bill, who until then had been standing apart from the others.

"So, uh Bill, how's things?"

"They're great, Harry. Actually, I got engaged earlier in the week."

Harry was shocked to say the least. Getting engaged was a big deal. Especially with war on the horizon. Harry hoped that nothing bad happened.

"Congratulations Bill. Who's the lucky girl?"

"Thanks, Harry. You remember Fleur Delacour? She stayed over to perfect her English, remember?"

"Of course! Oh, wow. Congratulations, Bill."

Just then they heard the screeching of the brakes of the Hogwarts Express. The steam from the engine billowed and filled the entire station, obscuring everyone's view. When the horrible screeching ended, and the steam had cleared, he noticed Ron and Hermione and Ginny charging out of the train. They had disembarked almost while the train was still moving. Harry was vaguely reminded of muggle magic shows. Poof! And there they were.

The next few minutes were filled with enthusiastic greetings all around.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked all three students, but the question was aimed mostly at Ron and Hermione.

"Just peachy, Harry. We got out of the Hospital Wing on Monday." Ron smiled, but it looked a little strained. Harry couldn't tell if it was because he was lying, or whether he felt awkward with Harry. He hoped it wasn't the latter.

"OH! Harry, you should have seen it! Peeves chased Umbridge out of the castle! She was trying to sneak out, but he caught her, and started chasing her and hitting her with a cane and a sock of chalk!" Ginny giggled.

Hermione was standing beside Ginny, trying to look reproving, but it looked as though she, too, were trying to hold back giggles.

"Oh, yeah, you shoulda seen it, Harry. Everyone was laughing their arses off," Ron laughed. His mother cuffed him on the back of his head for his foul language.

Harry laughed. He really would have loved to see that. "I'm sorry I missed it!"

At that moment, Luna and Neville came by to say hello. "Hullo, Harry."

"Hi, Neville, Luna. Feeling alright?"

"Yes, thank you Harry." Luna assured him. He wasn't that worried, though, as they both had seemed fine when he had seen them last. He chanced another glance at the Malfoys. Draco was standing proudly in front of his mother. Her hands were caressing his face, his neck, his hair, and his shoulders. As dignified as she was, it seemed that even she missed her son when he was gone. Lucius stood to the side, giving Narcissa time with her son. He had been looking at Draco when Harry looked up, but just as Harry was looking away, he looked up and caught his eye.

Neville's grandmother was standing, a stern expression on her face, a few feet away.

"Er, I have to go. I just wanted to say have a nice summer."

"Cheers, Neville. You, too."

Luna wandered off aimlessly.

"So, guys. Er…" Harry struggled for something to say. He wanted to tell Ron and Hermione the truth, but couldn't bring himself to. Especially in such a public place.

"How're those Muggle treating you?"

"Uh, not _so _bad." It wasn't a lie. It really could be worse. Probably.

"That's good."

There was a pause.

"So, what are you guys doing for summer? Anything special?"

"Well, I'm going to be spending some time with my parents, and then I'm going over to the Burrow."

"Yeah, mate, you should come! It'll be loads of fun, hanging out without having to worry about school."

"Yeah, I'll have to ask Dumbledore. Sounds like fun, though."

After another pause, Hermione's parents came over and gathered her. It seemed to spur the Weasleys into action, as well, and they left soon afterwards. Harry, standing on the platform all by himself, looked towards where the Malfoys were. They were gone. A tiny part of Harry fell, at that. Then, he noticed a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye. They were only about twenty feet away, moving towards the apparition point. Harry locked eyes with Lucius, who had on an expressionless mask. His heart started to race. Lucius paused, and gave a slight bow in his direction, a small smile on his face. He then continued walking, as if nothing at all had happened.

ooooooooooooooooo

When Harry got home, Petunia was already back from shopping. She looked livid, shoving the groceries away fiercely. Harry stepped in through the back door, and she walked over and slapped him.

"Where have you been, boy? Your first day out, and you can't help but to go cause trouble. You're supposed to be doing your chores. I bet you haven't done one, have you?"

"No. I—"

"Don't lie to me, you lazy boy!"

"I did do some! I had to go ask Mr. Bonderson if we could borrow his hedge trimmer, but he wasn't in!" Harry lied. It was surprising how easy it was to lie when he was at the Dursleys.

"You've been gone longer than that, I know that, boy."

"There was this motorist that needed help when I was coming home."

"A likely story. And it just so happens that this motorist has driven off, leaving you without someone to confirm your story, huh boy?"

"It's the truth!"

"Wait till Vernon gets home! I'll tell him what you did."

"Please! No! I swear it's the truth. Please don't tell Vernon."

Petunia still looked very angry, so he decided to bring out the big guns. He pouted. Just a _little. _Pouting outright never worked on any of the Dursleys, but if he just _subtly _made himself look a little miserable and pitiful, sometimes Petunia would go easy on him. He supposed it was just a subconscious reaction, because if she knew what was going on, she surely wouldn't give in.

"I'll do more chores, please, aunt Petunia?" People from Hogwarts, if they had seen him at this moment, begging his aunt to let him do more chores so he could escape being beaten, would not have recognized him. But Harry had decided to keep his head down, and not cause trouble this summer in order to save his own skin. It hadn't been too bad of a summer so far, and he intended to keep it that way. Though he couldn't stay out of sight, he could at least try as hard as he could to stay out of mind.

"Fine," she gave in, though it looked like it cost her a lot to say that. She looked as though she had eaten a bushel of lemons. "Now get back to work."

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Thanks to all the people that put me on alert or favorited this story, and my one review. Weee! (I would put names, but it's one of my pet peeves when authors take up space listing names because it's so misleading! I always think it's going to be a long story, and it's not!) But that doesn't mean I'm not thankful. Things like reviews make me want to write more (hint, hint).

This chapter came out fast. I put up something with Lucius because I'm going to be gone for a while; I have a friend visiting. Yay for finally having a LM/HP moment!

Thanks,

-boom.


	8. Non, Rien de rien

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

AN: Sorry about using pretty much the same name for some chapters. I don't quite know what to do about that. It's hard when they're lyrics for a song... And I have to have enough titles to finish the story. Dang!

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 8: Non! Rien de Rien

A week later, Harry had not heard from Ron or Hermione at all. He had received one short letter from Sirius, which stated that he was fine, told Harry not to worry about him, and asked how he was. Harry wrote back an even quicker missive stating that he too was fine not to worry, and to stay safe. After a bit of deliberation on how desperate he would sound, he asked if there was any possibility of staying with Sirius over the summer.

Harry had, for the most part, kept with his resolution to keep out of the way as much as possible. He received two small meals a day, and a list of chores. He had gone to the library to check out books on various subjects. He mostly concentrated on muggle school subjects, but occasionally found himself curious about a particular subject or other. At the moment, he had a physics book, a history book, and an introduction to psychology and psychological diseases book. The library— both at his Primary school and the Little Whinging branch of the Surrey public library— had always been a retreat of sorts for him. Dudley never bothered him in the library, and his aunt and uncle didn't know to look for him there. Stories that circulated the neighborhood about his 'degenerate behavior' didn't reach the ears of the librarians. Either that or they just ignored it. They didn't quite favor him, though he was in there quite often, but their neutral acceptance of his presence was enough for him. He received polite smiles and helpful answers instead of sneers and total disregard.

There was one thing he had discovered, quite by accident, that really, really infuriated him. His anger at Dumbledore had abated somewhat, and he was ready to think about the situations the man put him in, but this flared up his anger again like none other.

He had been walking out of the library, and accidentally dropped the list of books that he still wanted to check out. His arms full of books, he tried to step on it, but right at the moment his foot came down, a gust of wind blew the sheet of paper down an alley. He ran after it, down behind the library. Something seemed to be against him that day, as it kept blowing for another block entirely. The narrow alleyway acted like a wind tunnel. Every time he got near, it would float away again.

Then he hit a barrier. It was like an invisible wall. Every step he took forward actually propelled him backwards, so it felt like he was walking forwards but was actually retreating. He looked around, feeling eyes on him, but found the entire area deserted. The list twitched, and floated away, out of his reach on the wrong side of the barrier. This hadn't happened before, ever. Harry had a sinking feeling. He decided to run around the block to see if the barrier was only behind the library. He needed that list, damnit! He ran to the next alleyway over, sprinted down the alley, down one more block and—!

Another barrier. What the fuck. From where he was, the list looked like a white spot on the ground, but it might have even just been a piece of trash. What if it had blown away again? He ran back down the alley, went another block further, down an alley again, ran the last block, and BAM! There it was.

Twenty minutes later a very tired and very, very angry Harry had realized that, yes the barrier did go all the way around. Or at least, he was pretty sure. He had checked probably eight times in total. He was way too tired and frustrated to walk around the entire damn thing to see if there was a hole. Technically, he had all summer to find out, and he had been due back at the Dursley's fifteen minutes ago. He stalked back home. The books in his arms were very heavy, and he adjusted them.

Harry was almost home when he realized that the barrier hadn't been there the week before when he had snuck out to King's Cross to see his friends. _That meant it was relatively new_, Harry seethed. He wouldn't be surprised if it was there to ensure that he didn't leave the Dursley's again this summer. What a load of bullshit. He was being punished. And if he asked, he would probably be told it was _for his own good, _he was sure. Fucking Dumbledore. He had to be behind this. He was almost sixteen, for Christssakes. Leaving once for a day didn't compare at all to when he had been kicked out the summer before third year. What would happen if he had to leave for some reason, or got kicked out again? Or if there was an attack and he couldn't leave?!

Harry kicked the sidewalk. Mrs. Number 14 on Wisteria Walk glared at him. But, he supposed, there was nothing that he could do about it now. He resolved to write a letter to Dumbledore to ask about it as soon as he had calmed down.

That evening, Harry came back up to his room to find a very flustered owl on his windowsill. It looked like it had run into the bars on his window, maybe multiple times. Otherwise, it was a very elegant owl; it was all black and very sleek. In its beak it held a white flower. He had no clue whom would be sending him a flower. Cautiously, Harry reached for it, and when the flower touched his hand, it bloomed and turned into a letter. He realized that he should have been more careful, as it could have been cursed, but he couldn't use magic during the summer anyway. It was a relatively short missive, written in elegant script. It read:

_Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. This may seem sudden, but I assure you of my every sincerity. I must admit that, though I have seen admittedly little of you, what I have seen has intrigued me greatly. It seems that you are not what you appear to be. You are an enigma, Harry, and one that I would like very much to solve. You are like a puzzle I keep turning over and over in my head. I cannot stop thinking of you. _

_I admire you greatly, in spite of who you pretend to be in front of the world, and in spite of your fame, not because of it. It is what little I have seen of the true you that intrigues me. Please be assured that these sentiments are genuine. I am afraid that if you knew who I am, you would reject me outright, and so I fear I cannot tell you who I am. This is not meant to lessen any of what I have written. My only wish is that you would accept me for who and what I am, and that some day we may meet with the full knowledge of my identity. _

_Warmest Regards,_

_Erastes_

Harry was shocked. His heart beat hard in his chest. _He _had a secret admirer. And not just one that was in it for his fame. Or so it seemed. He was truly shocked, though, that the person thought that he was not what he seemed to be. This was something that he had a very hard time admitting to himself, but when he finally did, he saw the truth of it.

Truly, when he was at the Dursley's and when he was at Hogwarts, he was two different people. At the Dursley's, he tended to be meek and quiet in order to stay out of the limelight as much as possible. He had thought that he acted the same way at Hogwarts, but looking at his history at the school, he definitely tended to act the bashful and reluctant hero. He was more boisterous, and though he had some moments when he tried to fade into the background, his fame did not permit for that. That, combined with the pressure for him to conform to the hero image that he had been laden with, made him say and do things that he would not have done in Little Whinging. The most obvious things being the fact that he actually spoke, talked back, broke the rules, and laughed. _Oh_, and running off on adventures.

But he really felt it was the day to day things that made the difference, small though they might seem. It was not a conscious decision to act differently, he supposed he just did. It was an unconscious response to his environment as a survival mechanism. He supposed that survival mechanism, and the ability to so easily don each mask (he wasn't sure which was the mask and which was the real personality at this point) was the part of his personality that made the Hat want to place him in Slytherin. Also, the fact that he had been able to hide his intelligence from his family. He regularly snuck off to the local public library for books and to get some peace and quiet, even as a child. Though this last point also probably was what made it consider him, though briefly, for Ravenclaw.

Harry felt a thrill of shock and amusement go through him at the part that said that the person admired him _in spite of _his fame. It was definitely an interesting way to phrase things. Though he didn't consider himself the most cynical person in the world (he was _a realist, _thank you very much), he had always had a little voice in the back of his head that made him wonder if the people around him had alternative motives for befriending him. Harry could definitely think of a few people off the top of his head for which this was the case. And he was sure that even if his closest friends only thought of him as 'Harry' now, they might not have in the beginning.

It was the only thing he ever truly wanted. To be loved and accepted for who he was, and not reviled, hated, or loved for any other reason. He had learned very early, and quite abruptly, too, how easy it was for false admiration to turn into fear and hate. He secretly longed for a family as well, but that was related to this desire. That was what a real family was, right? Unconditional love?

All in all, Harry felt quite glowy inside. A warmth bloomed inside his little chest. He examined the letter again and tried to take clues as to the identity of the sender from it. It had to be someone that was allowed to do magic over the summer, so it had to be someone older. Or someone with an exception to the underage magic rule, but he didn't think that was very many people. Even in a pureblooded Wizarding home, located in a Wizarding town, like the Burrow, the children weren't allowed to do magic, though that could have just been Mr. and Mrs. Weasley implementing the rules instead.

The handwriting and diction was very elegant and cultured. The person had to be sophisticated and elegant. The person also seemed to have quite the knowledge of charms, if the charm on the letter was any indication. It also said that the writer was afraid of revealing his or her identity to him, so that pointed towards someone either from the dark side, or at least on the gray side of neutral, or someone that had some other characteristic that was looked down upon by wizards. A werewolf, vampire, or other creature being an example. Or it could be something else entirely. He was beginning to get a headache from all the thinking in circles.

Lastly, it was signed Erastes, which sounded familiar to Harry. It sounded like a distinctly male name, and although it wasn't the person's real name, he would assume that they would choose a name in the same sexual category as themselves. He resolved to check out the name at the local library to see where it had come from.

Harry paused. He knew who he hoped the letter was from. Lucius Malfoy. And the hints from the letter seemed to indicate that, too. But Harry knew that was just hopeful thinking bending facts to his wishes. He didn't want to get his hopes up too much. Really, it was hardly in the realm of possibility. Yes, it seemed to fit the vague clues he had gotten, but Lucius was older, more experienced, incredibly rich, and very attractive. And a Death Eater. He had had a one night tryst with the man that had lasted probably less than an hour.

Lucius probably had many lovers, so what kind of impression would one night like that, with an inexperienced lover, make on someone like him? Harry was, well, just Harry. A funny looking, gangly, skinny little boy with knobby knees, coke-bottle glasses, and no experience. Harry didn't think enough of himself to delude himself into thinking that he could catch anyone's eye, nonetheless Lucius Malfoy's. An insidious part of Harry's mind reminded him of the way Lucius had kissed him that night before they had parted. It reminded him of the way Lucius watched him in the train station the week before, and the way he had bowed at him before he lad left. But that last was quickly tamped down by the fact that it could have just been that Lucius wanted to thank Harry for getting him out of the Ministry scot-free. And the former could have been a goodbye kiss, or a thank you kiss.

Lucius Malfoy was, after all, the epitome of arrogance, and Harry being so awkward and feminine and small, couldn't be cared about by anyone like him. Lucius would surely go for someone his own age, or maybe a few years younger, but definitely not someone the age of his own son.

Harry resolved not to get his hopes up. It could, after all, be anybody. The clues he had gleaned from the letter itself had many loopholes and exceptions. It could have been a pre-charmed stationery from a store, or the person could have had an adult charm it for them. Handwriting could be forged or made nicer by practice. So, really who knew? The person could be pretty much anyone in the Wizarding world. He wasn't sure exactly how many people that was, but it was a lot. He decided to not think too hard on the identity of the person, and set the letter aside. He had to think carefully of how he would respond, if he did at all.

ooooooooooooooooo

The Monday night after he received the letter, Harry had finally gotten to sleep early in the morning. He had been having the eerie feeling of being watched for the past few days, and couldn't shake the feeling. He could never figure out who or what was watching him though, and it made him jumpy. He had been having trouble sleeping because of it, as even when he lay in bed he could feel silent eyes on him.

That night Harry had the first Voldemort-centered dream he had had in a while, if he didn't count the dreams of the Department of Mysteries. This was different, though. Even before the dream started, Harry had a feeling of intense sadness, and anger. He dreamed that he was a hunter, crashing through the underbrush in a forest. He saw his mum and dad, and they cried out to him to save them, but he couldn't control his own feet, and passed right by them.

He stopped in a clearing, that was covered in blood and bits of skin and guts. The limp body of an enormous snake lay twisted in a heap at the edge of the clearing. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, and intense sorrow, anger, and a bit of understanding. A man spoke to him from his right. It was a man with sandy blonde hair and a bone white mask. A Death Eater.

"I'm sorry, my lord. We just found her. It was too late." The man paused, as if waiting for a response, but continued on when he got none. "It seems that she got in a fight with a blood-sucking bugbear and lost too much blood." He pointed to a trail of blood that led towards an area of underbrush that had bent branches and broken leaves. "Seems that she got the blood-sucking bugbear before it got away, just not before getting terminally injured."

The prone form of a giant, bear-like form lay just past the signs of struggle. Harry stayed silent, mind swirling, thoughts changing quickly in a tilting teeter-totter from sane to insane. The Death Eater fidgeted.

"Leave me." Harry commanded, in a high, nasal voice.

"Y-yes, my lord." And the Death Eater fled.

"So this is where you have been. I knew I shouldn't have allowed you to roam the forest unprotected." Harry kneeled, and reached out a thin, pale hand with too-long fingers. "_My friend, you were my only companion and confidant for many years,"_ he hissed.

Harry paused, and sat silently for an indeterminate amount of time. Though he was grieving over his lost friend, his mind was whirling. He merely sat, stroking the cold, limp form of his only friend.

"_You were a worthy friend. You were many things to me. I gave you my soul, though I was told not to. It seems they were right; two souls cannot be harbored in one body. I am sorry it came to this. Rest well, Nagini." _

And with that, Harry stood, floating the snake's body behind him as he made his way back through the forest. He felt intensely sad, but at the same time lighter than he had in decades. It was almost as if he had carried a weight on him that he hadn't known about till it was gone. His heart was heavy, but some part of him soared with an unnamable joy. Harry jolted awake suddenly, in his room at the Dursley's. His eyes itched, and his ears were filled with his spilled tears. He had been crying in his sleep. He still felt a sad burning in his chest, remnants from the dream.

It was, he realized, the first true vision he had had since February, when Voldemort had spoken to Rookwood. After months of false visions, he knew for sure that this one was real. It felt more uncontrolled, more real. The contrast to his dreams about the Department of Mysteries was apparent, now that he knew that those were fake. In this dream he felt almost stifled, like he was being squeezed from all sides. Harry had assumed that Voldemort had been consciously blocking him since February, and only letting in false visions, and that he had been blocking him entirely since the failed night at the Department of Mysteries.

This night, though, he must have been so distressed from discovering the passing of his familiar that the vision burst through. Harry had felt his distress, which was an interesting concept to him. Lord Voldemort had emotions? Harry didn't know what Voldemort was talking about when he said that bit about giving Nagini his soul, and how that wasn't a good thing, but he resolved to find out more about it when he could.

The Voldemort in that dream had seemed different, more subdued or something. It might have been grief, but it seemed to be deeper almost. Harry felt that it was significant. He wished he had access to magical books over the summer. Even his textbooks might help. He sighed, and realized that it was very early, though the sun was already up.

A chill went through his body as he realized how similar that situation was to his own with Hedwig. He had let her out into the forest, thinking she'd be safe. He hoped that she was still alive. An owl, after all, didn't have deadly venom. Right at that moment, as if she had been called, Hedwig alighted on the window sill. He rolled out of bed, and went to open the window to greet her.

"Hey, girl. I was just thinking about you. I've been worried. Are you okay?"

Hedwig hooted an affirmative.

"That's good. I want you to stay safe." He sat, petting her through the bars on his window. After a few minutes, he handed her an owl treat from the bag that still sat next to her empty cage, and fed it to her. Hedwig cooed her thanks, nipped his fingertips, and flew off.

Now that he was sure Hedwig was fine, he had some time on his hands. He sighed, and added '5. Soul magic' to the list of things that he had to look up. So far the list read:

_1. Weird marks appearing on body_

_2. Significance of the symbol on my arm_

_3. Catch up to GCSE (1) in Physics, History_

_4. Meaning of 'Erastes'_

_5. Soul Magic_

He sighed again, and realized that he might as well stay up. He pulled a physics book out from under the loose floorboard in his room, and tried to learn about momentum while ignoring the feeling he was being watched.

* * *

(1) GCSE General Certificate of Secondary Education. The way I understand it, it's the British equivalent of the OWLs.

Oh, and sorry if it seems text heavy. He doesn't have anyone to talk to! So there's not much dialogue.

Review, please!


	9. Non!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 9: Non!

Over the next couple of days, Harry composed his reply to Erastes in his head. He had gone to the library and tried to find a book on name origins. The name Erastes did not show up. The closest match was 'Erastus,' which had a Greek origin. He resolved to look in the Greek history and culture section. But first, he searched the encyclopedia. He found something, though it was very short. It said only, '_In ancient Greece, the erastes (ἐραστής, "lover") (pl.: erastae) was an adult male involved in a pederastic relationship with an adolescent boy called the eromenos. The word was also used as a general term for any male admirer courting a particular boy, even if he had not been accepted by the boy as a bona fide lover."__ (1)_

A thrill went through Harry. So whoever wrote him that letter was an older male. Dare he get his hopes up? He went over to the Ancient Greece section and pulled out a number of books on ancient Greek history and culture. After searching through a number of books, he found two entries, about a couple pages long each, in two books. He read each hungrily. They said how _erastae _courted the _eromenoi, _their tasks and functions, references to _erastae _in literature and politics, and even the social standing of most _erastae. _Evidently, _erastae _would go to great lengths and spend much money while courting their _eromenoi. _Harry wasn't sure how far to read into the roles. Was it just a good word to use, or did the letter writer have the intention of actually following tradition? Also, it seemed that the relationship wasn't mutually exclusive of women. It was understood that the _eromenos _would grow up, marry a woman, and have children. Was that what this person wanted, or not? Harry had hoped to have a long lasting relationship, whatever type it may have been, with the person. He hoped it wasn't an issue. He wasn't the type for short flings. If he decided to welcome someone into his heart, it would be for real.

On Wednesday morning, he woke up early and wrote two letters. The first was a short missive to Professor Dumbledore asking about the appearance of the wards. Though he was still a little angry, he was proud of himself that none of it was reflected in his letter. One soft whistle later, and Hedwig was at his window.

"Here, girl. I want you to give this to Professor Dumbledore. When you're done, can you come back for a second letter?"

Hedwig bobbed her head.

Then Harry realized, he didn't know _who _was sending him the letters. But then again, there must be something magic in post owls, as they always knew where to find people. He hoped that was the case.

"Do you know where my secret admirer lives?"

Hedwig bobbed her head again. Harry wished that she could speak, so he could know who it was.

The second letter was his reply to Erastes. It said:

_Erastes:_

_I was quite surprised and flattered to get your letter. I have to admit that I've never received much attention— at least not of the positive sort, and definitely not of this type— before. I have received attention for my fame, but never anything like this. _

_I feel I should address your fear of being discovered. I have to say that I don't care much for purely physical relationships. If you are interested in me, truly interested, then it doesn't really matter to me what you are. If you really care about me, and don't want to cause me any harm, in any way, then I'd be willing to carry on writing letters. I believe all forms of love should be appreciated, and would not reject it, ever, as long as it is genuine. You must understand, though, the risk that I run that someone would want to cause me harm. But I think that if you truly care for me, you wouldn't want harm to come to me._

_I'd like to get to know more about you. If you'd like, we can write back and forth. As for me, I am currently with my muggle relatives. They don't like me very much at all, so you can imagine that my summer isn't going the best so far. They don't treat me very well. Besides that, I've been keeping busy reading. My day usually consists of doing chores and reading. Sometimes I go to the library or the local park for some peace and quiet. _

_I think we should close each letter with a personal or little known fact about ourselves. Here's mine. When I was eight, I found an injured kitten while walking home. I snuck it home and nursed it back to health, and hid it for an entire month. I named it Florence. Eventually, my aunt found out and made me give her to an old lady down the street that has about twenty cats. Florence still comes by occasionally during the summers to say hello._

_I hope you'll write me back. _

_Warmest regards,_

_Eromenos _

He sat for a while, agonizing over how to close the letter, but eventually decided to close it the same way Erastes had. Also, instead of Harry, he put Eromenos. It was his way of acknowledging that he knew what was going on, and what kind of relationship _erastae _and _eromenoi _had. Looking over the letter, Harry realized how boring his life was. "_Sometimes I go to the library or the local park"_?! How lame was that? But there was really nothing else he could think of to say about himself or how he spent his time. Or at least there was nothing that could be said in a polite letter to someone he didn't know. And closing his letter with a story about Florence the kitten? _Lame. _

He figured that admitting he was in the muggle world wasn't that big of a deal, as the muggle world was so much larger than the wizard one. He hoped that Erastes wrote back soon, though he also realized that although Erastes could claim to be really and truly genuine in his affections, he had no real way of knowing the truth. It was so much easier to lie in a letter, and even if they met, he could be deceived. Then again, he always ran that risk, no matter what. He supposed he really shouldn't worry about it that much.

Harry blew on the ink to dry it. He rolled it up and dripped wax on it to seal it, though he didn't have a seal of his own, so he put none. He set it aside to send with Hedwig when she got back in a day or two.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Harry stood on tiptoe to dust the top of a high shelf. Times like these he really hated being short. He heard the click of heels come up behind him.

"I have a few friends coming over for tea. I want you out of the house and out of the way for the next two hours."

Harry turned around to see Petunia, dressed nicer than she usually was, standing behind him. So now he had to leave, and wouldn't get his chores done. _Out of the house_ meant "go in the backyard and garden," while _out of the house and out of the way_ meant "go somewhere else entirely so the people coming over won't even know you exist." Petunia's guests were evidently higher class people, who wouldn't already know about Harry. Petunia didn't want to _offend their delicate sensibilities_ by even having to explain about Harry's presence.

"Yes, aunt Petunia," he replied, and went past her to put away the duster.

A few minutes later, Harry was walking towards the park with a library book clutched in one hand. Most of the park was inside that infernal barrier that Dumbledore had erected, so he could go and find a tree to sit under in a quiet corner to read.

Suddenly, he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He was being followed. Startled, he broke in to a run, dodging around some trash cans. He was a little past the trashcans when he heard a loud crash behind him. He chanced a glance backwards.

A shock of bright magenta hair on a discorporate head greeted him. The head turned.

"Wotcher, Harry."

Harry let out a relieved breath. "Thanks, Tonks. Uh, were you following me?"

Tonks stood and dusted herself off. She said sheepishly, "Yeah, you weren't supposed to see us."

"Don't worry. I won't say anything to Dumbledore."

"Thanks, Harry," she said brightly.

"Since I already know you're there, you might as well take that invisibility cloak off and come walk with me." Harry had a few questions he had to ask.

"Oh, alright, Harry. But once we get there I should hide again."

"Fine with me."

After a bit of small talk, Harry decided that he had beat around the bush long enough.

"Tonks, I've noticed there's some sort of barrier around the house. It won't let me out."

"Oh, so you've found that, eh?" she asked, looking at him askance.

"Yeah. I ran into it a couple of times. It won't let me past. I think it goes all the way around…" he purposefully trailed off, looking at Tonks to answer his unspoken question.

"Yeah it does. Dumbledore put it up." She wasn't a Ravenclaw for nothing. Clumsy though she was, she had understood his concerns. "It won't let anyone magical through, unless they have the password, so that means that no one can come in. But then you can't go out, either."

Ah, so there was a password. "So he put it up after I snuck out to King's Cross?"

"Yeah, I think the Weasleys mentioned that you had come. He thought it would be best. It's for your own good, Harry."

There were those damnable words. _For your own motherfucking good. _But that was the rub, wasn't it. No one ever thought about his _happiness. _They didn't help him when he needed it, and controlled his life when he didn't. And they did all this without thinking about _him. _They just wanted his safety for their own sakes.

He shook himself out of his dark thoughts. Tonks was looking at him strangely.

"So what if something happens to me? And I can't get out?"

"That's where we come in. You have a guard that's out 24/7, not just during the day. If there's a problem, we have the password, so we can take you out of the wards."

Harry supposed it was better than he originally thought. At least he wouldn't be stranded in an emergency. But it still annoyed him to no end. It was the principle of the matter. He had no say in his own life. Even less than a normal teenager.

"What if you're incapacitated?"

"I don't know. We'd figure something out. I'm sure that we'd have warning before hand, and one of us could tell you the password. Or we would wait for help to come. The wards falling would set off an alarm, and then help wouldn't be too far off."

"It'd be better if we didn't have to wait…"

"I know. I can't just tell you the password, you understand. Then the wards would be almost pointless."

Harry understood what she had unintentionally implied. He was under house arrest. The wards really were as much to keep him in as they were to keep others out.

"Yeah, alright."

"Hey, don't look so glum. It's only for a little while. Then you get to go to the Weasleys'!"

"Yeah, that's right," he said, purposefully brightening. He smiled, maybe a bit blankly, and asked, "So do you follow Quidditch?"

Later, after Tonks had re-hidden herself under her invisibility cloak and gone off a bit to give him some privacy, he recalled that the niggling feeling of being watched still hadn't gone away even when he had been talking to his guard.

ooooooooooooooooo

Friday, Harry had the fierce urge to go back to the library. He had just been a couple days before, and hadn't finished his reading yet, but the more he put it out of his mind, the more he wanted to go. It almost alarmed him to realize that his urges weren't his own, but after a bit of thought, he realized didn't feel like he was being influenced unduly. He just really wanted to go to the library. He decided maybe it was some sort of instinct telling him where to go. He had learned to trust his instincts.

After his aunt left for the grocery store, he suddenly found himself walking along the pavement towards the library. First he went, as always, to the history section. But as soon as he got there, something didn't feel right. He turned, and without paying attention to where he was going, wandered deep into the back of the library. He hardly ever wandered back here, as most of the books he needed for the GCSE were in the front sections. The books back here were all outdated and yellowed.

He stopped when something caught his eye. It was a book that seemed to have been put back wrong, so he could see the front cover. His heart jumped into his mouth. On the front cover was the mark on his arm.

The book was called _Basque Mythology and Pre-Christian Beliefs. _He picked it up and leafed through it. It took him a while to find the picture on the inside of the book, because he didn't know what it was called or what it was about. It turned out that it was a form of the Basque cross, the _Lauburu_. The snakes were symbolic of the male deity Sugaar, also known as Sugoi and Maju. Harry remembered that voice inside of his head as he headed back inside from the lake the last day he had been at Hogwarts. It had said _"Sugoi, Sugoi, ahí estás." _It sounded so familiar, so right. Sugoi.

He read on. Sugaar was the male half to the corresponding female deity Mari, and was associated with storms and thunder. His heart leapt into his throat again. Sugaar could speak to and command dragons, and could turn into his alternate forms of a dragon or a serpent. He could speak to serpents. He had always been told it was his connection to Voldemort that did it… but what if… it was something else? But what? Could it be something else? Because he recalled suddenly being able to speak to Lazarus. Were lizards like tiny, magicless dragons? It didn't seem likely, but then how was he suddenly able to speak to the lizard? He felt like he was getting ahead of himself. Sugaar was a _god, _and he was just Harry.

But something inside of him was singing, _Yes, yes! _and he didn't know why. His heart beating fast he closed the book and looked at the shelves for more books.

Suddenly, a hand appeared in his line of vision, carrying two books.

"You'll want these." Came an oddly accented voice.

"What?" He turned around to find a dark skinned woman with black hair and brown eyes. She wore a long belted tunic over a floor-length peasant skirt. She almost looked like what he would imagine a gypsy to look like, but the only jewelry or adornments she wore were two huge golden cuffs on her wrists.

"These books, read them."

"Excuse me? How do you know what books I want?"

She merely shook her head.

"Who are you?"

"I am called Prophyta."

"Are you the reason I've been feeling like I've been watched the past week?"

"You are not ready."

"Not ready for what?" his temper was getting the best of him. This stupid woman and her non-answers. How can she just come here and tell him to read some books and not tell him what was going on? No one ever told him what was going on.

"You must be ready. When you are ready, you will know that it is time. Wait for a Friday night, and say _'Under the clouds and over the brambles.'_"

"What? What does that do?"

"It will take you to me, and you will know all you need to know."

Harry grumbled darkly. But part of him instinctually trusted this woman. It was odd.

"Does this have to do with my mark? What does it mean?"

"All in time. Trust me; just trust me." And with that she turned and walked away.

"Wait!" he called.

Prophyta turned.

"Did you call me here?"

"You needed a little push." And then she disappeared, no sound, no pop, nothing.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

That night Harry was having an odd dream. He was in Miss Docket's classroom at his old primary school. Oddly enough, the child version of Vernon sat in the desk next to him, combing his walrus-like mustache with a beefy hand. The child version of Vernon was a strange thing to see. He looked quite a bit like Dudley at that age, but with a huge mustache. _Ugh. _A pale hand entered his vision and set a bouquet of blood red gladiolas on his desk. As he turned to see who it was, the desks in the classroom and the hand itself melted away. He felt an enormous pair of hands grab hold of him from behind. It was Vernon, full size again. In fact, he was bigger than full size. Either that or Harry was small again.

At that moment, Dumbledore, in all his blue and pink robed glory, stormed into the room.

"Oh, good. Hold him still, will you?" he told Vernon.

Harry struggled.

"Rar. I want bread pudding," Vernon said.

Dumbledore didn't reply. Neither did Harry.

The Headmaster pulled a long sinister looking metal stiletto out of his robes. All of a sudden, Harry realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt. The stiletto entered his line of vision and began carving runes on his chest. They glowed and seeped a thick, black blood. Harry screamed and squirmed, but to no avail. The hands holding him still were too strong, and he too weak. On and on Dumbledore carved the runes, in vertical lines all over Harry's small torso. Harry could feel every rune like a sharp stabbing in his chest. Then he felt more sharp pains as Dumbledore began to really stab him, sharp, shallow jabs in quick succession.

Harry was suddenly lying on the ground. Vernon still held him still at the shoulders, and now Dumbledore sat on his legs. A glow to his right made him look to the door of the classroom. It was a man, whom he had never seen before. The glow seemed to come from behind him and from him at the same time. He was dark complexioned, with long, dark hair. Harry realized that he had completely black eyes, with no whites, like someone from a scary television show. The man himself was muscular and attractive. He wore a long robe that fit tight around his torso and was open in a deep V cut to his chest. A long, chunky gold chain sat on his neck hanging to his stomach.

"_En el nombre de Mari, te bendigo (2),_" the stranger began muttering, his hands held out a little from his body.

Harry had no clue what he was saying. Which was odd, because wasn't this a product of his own brain? Dumbledore and Vernon and the classroom faded away. He still couldn't move. But all that existed were he and the stranger. The strange man continued to mutter.

"_En el nombre de Sugaar, echa el alma mala de ese cuerpo._

"_Este cuerpo es mío. Tú no puedes tenerlo." _

Harry would have recognized the name that the man said, had he not begun to feel an intense pain, like the Cruciatus curse, starting from his chest area and reverberating around his entire body. He wanted to writhe and shudder from the pain, but he still could not move. The runes on his chest glowed a sickly yellow.

"_Suelta ese cuerpo, en el nombre de Mari y Maju. __Suéltalo y no regresa."_

Harry felt like screaming, but he couldn't draw air in his lungs to do so.

The man drew a long silver sword with a snake for a handle. Harry was really beginning to panic now. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. And he was about to get stabbed.

"_En el nombre de Mari, deja este cuerpo," _the man said, and with one fell swoop, stabbed Harry in the heart.

Harry let out a silent scream. Then he looked down and realized that the man had missed his mark. He had stabbed too close to the center of Harry's chest to have gotten his heart. The man twisted his knife and withdrew it. On the end was a pulsing black ping-pong ball sized mass…thing.

"Y_ en el nombre de Maju, regresa a tu propio cuerpo." _

Harry had no clue what he said, but as soon as he said it, the black mass in the man's hand cracked. A white wisp raised itself from the ball, screaming an unholy screech. The stranger's hands turned ashen gray, and Harry realized that the stranger had turned into Voldemort. As soon as Voldemort opened his red eyes, the white wisp shot into his chest with one last shriek.

Harry shot up in bed, his unseeing eyes darting around the blurry form of his room. He was still alone, in his bed at the Dursleys'. Then he realized that the pain from his dream had been real. He felt a sharp pain in his chest. A quick check revealed that he wasn't actually injured. He felt like there was something important in that dream that he should remember, but even as he thought about it, it slipped from his mind. It was like the stinging in his chest was taking over his brain and not letting him think of anything else. The pain spread throughout his chest, making it hard to breathe. Tired and in pain, Harry let darkness take him. In the morning, he wouldn't remember anything of his dream but a gold necklace and a lot of pain.

* * *

(1) From wikipedia.

(2) Oh, and the Spanish: Basically,

"In the name of Mari, I bless you. In the name of Sugaar, throw the evil soul from this body. This body isn't yours, you can't have it. Let go of this body, in the name of Mari and Maju. Let it go and don't come back. In the name of Mari, let go of this body. And in the name of Maju, go back to your own body."

Also, the Basque Mythology stuff is real. It comes mostly from Wikipedia, as well.

This chappy is for Aisling Siobhan, who made me realize that Harry was actually a Horcrux (that's what happened there at the end scene, if it wasn't clear), even if it wasn't intentional. OH, and enchanted nightingale and celestialuna who reviewed every fricken chapter! Wee!

Review, please!


	10. Interludes 2 and 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

**INTERLUDE 2:**

It hadn't taken him as long as he would have thought to find the house. Dressed in a lurid red pantsuit, he had merely entered the local yarn store and asked the old ladies knitting inside if they knew where the old Gaunt house was. He was told the general direction it was in, as nobody knew for sure how to get there anymore; no one had been able to find it for decades. He had walked down the road and had immediately felt the wards. And so here he was, in a run down hovel in a forest in the middle of nowhere in the middle of what was probably the second or third most important moment of his life.

Dumbledore stared dumbly at the object in his hand, his heart beating a rabbit's pace in his chest. He had been told that it had the Peverell crest of arms. A ring certainly wasn't only what he was looking at, though. Dear Merlin. He had a hard time believing that it was so easy to get, after all these years, it was just sitting here the entire time. It looked so innocuous. An old, gold ring that looked more ragged than anything else. Voldemort's protections weren't that hard to get around, but he supposed that being over double the young Riddle's age gave him many more years of experience that could not be discounted. Intelligent as he was, there was simply nothing that could compare to living life and learning by doing.

His head spun wickedly. He began to feel light headed and realized that the room was spinning because he was hyperventilating. He could do so much now. The implications were enormous. He could see Ari again. Dear, little Ari. His dearest wish, the one thing he saw when he looked into the Mirror of Erised— one hundred years of looking in that damnable mirror and being reminded; the image never changed— was his family, whole and loving again. His regret weighed heavily on his mind. If he could just see her, he could apologize to her. She, who fate had mistreated so badly, was an innocent victim of circumstance her entire short little life. What he would change could he go back in time. She had been a shut-in at the end there, treated as little more than a wayward dog. He was so young and misled and headstrong and _oh, Merlin, so arrogant. _His heart ached at how stupid he was. How he fancied himself in love, and made the biggest mistake of his life. He was too entranced by power.

But now, now he had a chance to redeem himself. If he could just see Ariana again, everything would be alright. And maybe Aberforth would drop that grudge he still held. He could make things better. He could see his mother and father! And, oh, Lord, his head was still spinning quite a bit: he had _it_. The Deathly Hallows. The wand. He had that. Harry had the invisibility cloak, and that wouldn't be too hard to borrow. And now the stone. He could see all the people he had ever lost. He had lived through countless muggle wars and three Wizarding ones. He could get help in the war against Voldemort! Think of all the people that could be reunited with their families, all the sorrow he could allay.

The world tipped suddenly and stopped spinning. No. _No. _He could not fall to temptation. Not again. He had learned relatively early in life the pull power held to him. And he had learned the hard way what that meant. Just one. Just Ariana. His heart resolved, he reached out and put the ring on.

_Pain. _He felt unimaginable pain.

It felt as though his entire arm was being burned off by fiendfyre. It concentrated on his finger and traveled up and down his arm. The pain was so intense he could feel shocks running through his spine. It hurt so much he couldn't even scream. Dumbledore immediately recognized his mistake. Voldemort, it appeared, was sneakier than he seemed. A true Slytherin. It was another protection. Tom must have known the temptation it held. He was frozen in pain. His body wouldn't respond to him. Gathering his strength he hastily ripped the gold ring off his finger. His first instinct was to throw it away from him, but no, the damage was already done. It didn't matter if he threw it down or not. There was a black mark around his finger. The skin itself was charred and black. The tip was still fine and flesh colored, but he knew that it wouldn't stay that way for long. Carefully, minding his injured hand that still throbbed with pain, he set the ring on the stone ground and drew the Sword of Gryffindor from its holster on his hip.

Very slowly, he raised the sword. The ring lay glinting in the sun on the ground, seeming vacant now that its last defense was done. He hesitated. What if this destroyed the stone? This was literally a priceless artifact. Could he just destroy it? Could he risk not being able to use it after? Maybe the curse on the ring had run its course and he could now use the stone? But maybe it was for the best that it be unusable after this. He vowed not to check. Gathering his courage, he slammed the sword down on the ring as hard as he could. The first time, the sword hit the stone and glanced off, striking the ground instead. The second time rang true. A wisp streaked from the stone, screaming like all get out. It sounded like a banshee. It was unbearable. The soul particle whooshed past his face, disturbing his hair as it went. Dumbledore sagged, feeling his age. He stood in the ramshackle shack, all alone, and knew he was living on borrowed time.

ooooooooooooooooo

**INTERLUDE 3:**

When Voldemort walked into Lucius's private library Sunday evening, Lucius looked exceedingly surprised. He supposed that he looked gaunt and haggard for the first time in years. He always hid his weaknesses so well. Added to that was the fact that he hadn't been so casual with his followers in years, either. Lucius, ever composed, set aside the letter he was composing, stood and bowed deeply. He gestured to the armchair next to him.

"My lord. Would you like a drink? Tea perhaps, or brandy?"

"Brandy, I think."

Later, after Lucius had poured him a snifter of brandy for him and himself, and yet he still stayed silent, Lucius finally asked what must have been weighing on his mind from the beginning. "What brings you here, my lord?"

"Something of import has happened." Voldemort paused, unsure of how to continue. He felt as if a fog had been lifted after years and years, and he didn't know how to begin. It had been so long that the chasm felt insurmountable.

"Lucius, I have known you all your life." He began again, slightly changing the subject. Lucius didn't bat an eye at the non sequitur and merely nodded. "Your father was a dear friend to me. I will never forget some of the things he and his father did for me." He paused again.

Lucius, as if sensing that it was best to not say anything, remained silent.

"You were like a son to me." Voldemort sipped his brandy. It was a hard thing to do to confide in a human after so long. Difficult though it was, he felt that it was necessary. Lucius of all people could be trusted to listen and not use the knowledge to undercut him or his regime, after all. He was absolutely sure that Lucius's loyalty lay with him and his cause. The Dark Lord was merely a figurehead, but one whose beliefs coincided with Lucius's. But to the past three generations of Malfoy men, he wasn't just Lord Voldemort, he was Tom Riddle. They had welcomed him as a part of their family. And Lucius Malfoy respected family, though it might be not by blood. He was a well learned man, respectable and intelligent. He was a Slytherin, yes, and self-serving and cunning to a fault, but Slytherins were a collective. They learned early on at Hogwarts to band together against a school that was against them. And Voldemort, as a true Slytherin— heir of Slytherin, in fact— would be given this loyalty. Then he began speaking again. "I am regretful of the years I have lost to madness."

"My lord?"

"In my arrogance, I thought that I could do the impossible. I had been warned against it; animals are unfit for being Horcruxes."

Lucius inhaled sharply. He knew immediately what dark magic the Dark Lord had wrought. Voldemort knew that he was risking quite a bit —his life, in fact— by revealing this information. But he had to trust he was making the right decision. He had to bring back his wayward followers, and the way to do that was to confide in this man. He had the authority and the cunning, but he also had one thing Voldemort didn't: access to the true thoughts of the Dark Lord's followers that didn't have to be tortured out of them. Voldemort reigned with fear, and therefore he couldn't debase himself by chatting his followers back around or by admitting his wrongs.

"Besides the risk of the animal dying, there is another reason why they are not used to house Horcruxes. Animals cannot house two souls in one body(1). But I was arrogant. I had already made a number of Horcruxes and thought that I knew more than any other on the subject. In fact, I had made more than any person in history."

Voldemort could tell that Lucius was deeply shocked if just by the fact that it actually showed on his face. He sipped at his brandy again. "But that is neither here nor there. I thought I could protect her. She was my only true friend for so long. I could trust her to care for my well-being implicitly. She wanted to prove her loyalty to me, and I to her, so I gave her a part of my soul."

Voldemort chanced a glance at his follower. Lucius was sitting, his brandy totally forgotten and sitting on his knee. He seemed to be recovering from his shock, and now was intrigued.

The past week, he had been slowly returning to sanity. The night before, he had felt something shift inside of him. He hadn't known what, but with his increasingly sensitive faculties, he had suspected that another Horcrux had been lost, somehow. In a panic, he had fled his manor in the middle of the night to check on his remaining Horcruxes. Much to his horror, the Gaunt ring _and _the Slytherin Locket had been taken. He had been overwhelmed with anger and not a little fear, but after a bit of thinking and restless pacing, he had decided that his return to sanity was a good thing. If he had to lose a couple Horcruxes in the process, then so be it. Though Nagini's death still pained him. But he still had two Horcruxes: the Diadem, and the Hufflepuff cup. That wasn't out of the realm of what had been done by other dark wizards before him. He admitted he might be a little addled from now on, but two Horcruxes was much better than seven, _and _one of the seven being a live animal. So, in the end he had merely increased the protections on both objects, and come to Malfoy Manor.

"I didn't know it at the time, but I began by slow descent into madness then. You… you must… forgive me if my actions of the past two decades have seemed…different than I would have done before."

"I understand my lord. May I ask a question?" Lucius was tense.

"You may be frank, Lucius."

"What does this mean for the Dark faction?"

"My goals have changed somewhat. I no longer want the subjugation of the muggle world. But I still believe in the superiority of purebloods and the importance of Wizarding traditions in society. That has not changed since I have been in school. Mudbloods are draining our society of its traditions and even the very magic. They slow down our educational system with their ignorance. They marry their filthy Muggle and rob us of their magic, and their talents. They cause peril in the stability of the Wizarding world due to the increased risk of being made known to Muggle by parents, neighbors and friends. As years pass, more and more Muggle are made aware of our world due to the selfish nature of the mudbloods.

"Pureblooded traditions have been followed religiously for centuries, until recently. We must preserve them, while at the same time structuring our society to rehabilitate our world's weakening magic. That is what I believe in."

Lucius had visibly relaxed. "My lord," he exhaled, "it's good to have you back." It was said with such fervor that Voldemort was shocked. He wouldn't be surprised if even Lucius himself had been wavering in his support of the Dark Lord, and now he had no cause to be.

"Thank you, Lucius."

Silence reigned for a while. Lucius seemed to remember his forgotten brandy and sipped it idly. He poured Voldemort another when his went dry, but otherwise looked pensive. Finally, he spoke.

"My lord, if I may be frank again, I too have a confession."

Voldemort was surprised but didn't let it show. He merely waved his follower on.

"A number of weeks ago, after the incident at the Department of Mysteries, I did not disclose to you the whole truth of what passed that night." Lucius spoke, not meeting the Dark Lord's eyes, as if fearing retribution.

Voldemort tried to remain calm, and told himself that it should have been expected. He raised an eyebrow.

"I met Harry Potter. I told you that we fought, he escaped, aided by his friends and the Order, and I managed to elude them and leave, but that is not the truth." Lucius took a fortifying breath. "I chased him into the Room of Desire, my lord. The Room was made to lower inhibitions while at the same time encourage sexual desire. Needless to say, we had relations of a more carnal nature."

It was only years of training that prevented him from gaping like a fish. As it was his jaw dropped, just a little, and his lips parted. He blinked. He wasn't sure how to react. How was one supposed to react when told that his right-hand man had bedded his mortal enemy? A whirlwind of emotions passed through him. Shock, anger, betrayal, humiliation, and even a little fear. Then, after a while, amusement. Who knew that Gryffindor's Golden Boy had it in him?

"Is that all?"

"No, my lord."

"Go on."

"Afterwards, we were caught by the Order of the Phoenix. We had dressed but had not yet left the room. Fenrir's traitorous werewolf was there, and I am sure he smelled the evidence of our acts. But Mr. Potter lied, and very convincingly at that, and said that nothing of the sort had happened. He convinced them that I was blameless, in fact, and forced them to allow me to leave. I am not sure whether I would have been able to leave unscathed were it not for him."

Now Voldemort was well and truly shocked. Shocked didn't even begin to define it. Gryffindor's Golden Boy, indeed. But then he was overwhelmed with the implications of those actions. If Potter was willing to lie to keep a Death Eater safe, could he be turned to the Dark side, with enough persuasion? If he could use the connection to his advantage, there was no telling what could happen! He could have the best spy in the world; he could crush the Light forces; he could gain a powerful ally and follower!

His mind raced. He would probably have to change his methods to adapt to Harry's sensibilities, but he had been considering that anyway, in view of his recent return to sanity, as it were. Making a snap decision, he decided to put off killing Dumbledore in favor of turning Harry to the Dark faction. He wanted Dumbledore to see the descent of his Savior. He wanted to see his face when he realized what had happened to his Golden Boy. He would tell his Death Eaters to restrain themselves when it came to Harry Potter. In fact, he would wage an all out campaign to win Potter. He would even hold back on some of his more vicious attacks so as not to look bad. Instead of giving Draco and the other Slytherins the mission of killing Dumbledore, he would give them the mission of befriending Potter in order to sway him to the dark side. His eyes cut to Lucius, who was sitting in tense silence next to him. He realized he had yet to say anything.

"Lucius. I have decided we can use this to our advantage. If the Golden Boy is not as golden as he seems, I want to explore the possibility of turning him to our side."

Lucius didn't seem surprised. He merely listened. Of course. It would have been the reason he had admitted things to the Dark Lord in the first place.

"We must make a concerted effort to persuade the boy to join us. I am going to stop offensive actions against him and lighten offensive action against the Light forces. I have decided to have young Draco and his associates befriend the boy when they return to Hogwarts. In the meantime, I want you to do all you can to seduce the boy. Maybe you should begin with a letter, as it is summer."

"Yes, my lord. It will be as you wish." There was a hint of small, secretive smile before it was quickly hidden.

Lucius didn't seem to react either way. Little did Voldemort know that Lucius would have done the same whether he had been given permission or not. In fact, he already had. He did believe in the Dark Lord's cause, and he did look up to the man, but it was something he had wanted, and was willing to sacrifice certain things for. Especially before the Dark Lord had changed in the past week. Lucius had a wife, and an heir to the Malfoy name. Maybe if he had been living a happy life, this would have been a reason to not be with Harry, but to him, it was all the more reason to act selfishly. He had lived his life for others, he had fulfilled all his responsibilities, now it was time to live for himself.

* * *

(1) I got this from another story, I'm afraid I don't remember which. If you know, please tell me. Cause it's killing me. I swear I remembered it like, two days ago!

Also, LV doesn't know about Harry being a horcrux, so that's why some things he says might be 'wrong.'

And sorry, not all interludes are smutty :P

**Please Review!**

-Boom.

p.s. Yay, knitting! Who's with me??


	11. C’est Payé

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 11: C'est Payé

On Monday morning Harry woke to find that he had had a wet dream, _again. _He had finally taken to keeping a roll of toilet paper next to his bed for this very purpose. He didn't remember what it had been about, but he did remember flashes of blonde hair. He wiped the cum off of his stomach and saw something out of the corner of his eye. There was another letter on his desk. As his window was open, he assumed that the owl had been by, slipped the letter through the bars on his window, and left. His heart beat fast in his chest. He recognized the writing on the font of the letter. Erastes. This letter, like the last, was charmed to bloom from a flower to a letter when he touched it. It read:

_Dear Eromenos,_

_I wish I could allay any of your doubts regarding the sincerity of my affection, but I am afraid that the only way is for me to continue showing you the truth of it until you believe. I can only assure you that I wish you no harm. _

_I would enjoy getting to know you better. I must say that I am sad and outraged at the treatment you receive while with your relatives. I am sure there is a lot you are not telling me regarding your relatives, but I understand your reluctance to share more. I only wish there were something I could do to help. _

_If you have not figured it out, I am older than you. I assume that you have, though, from your use of 'Eromenos.' I always knew you were intelligent. I am married, but please do not fret. It was an arranged marriage. My wife is often away and when she is not, we are apart as much as possible. I am alone much of the time. I am afraid I don't really have friends. I have associates, as I have trouble entrusting my confidence to other people, and am an intensely private person. _

_To tell the truth of it, I have always been a reserved person, prone to bouts of silence and deep thought. I believe this makes me seem unapproachable. People think that I am cold, and maybe even a little sinister, when in fact I am merely reserved and quiet. When I was younger this made me more mature than my peers, and so we never really got on; I have never made friends easily. Even still, with the realization that my reticence is what pushes people away, I have only two people I consider friends. _

_You mentioned ending each letter with little known personal facts. When I was in school I excelled in charms work. It was my greatest desire to be a charms master. But it was deemed an unfit profession by my father, and so I accepted an occupation at the ministry instead. _

_You should be getting your OWL results soon. They will be sent out this morning, so you should be receiving them later this day or tomorrow. I look forward to hearing from you soon._

_With affection,_

_Erastes_

Harry set down the letter with a small smile on his face. He had learned a lot about Erastes in this letter. He was right, too, that there was no way for him to prove the trueness of his affection but by showing him continually. And considering how intelligent Erastes seemed, Harry wasn't surprised that he had picked up his allusions to his treatment at the Dursley's. Harry hadn't actually said anything outright, but Erastes has successfully discerned the truth. Harry was not surprised that he was married, come to think of it, considering how Erastes was older, but he was still sad. He didn't feel right getting in with a married man. He felt like a hypocrite thinking that, considering that he _already had, _but there was a difference between one night of passion and consciously beginning a relationship with a married man. Even if the wife was frigid, and it had been implied that she regularly cheated on her husband. He idly wondered if it worked the other way around, too, and he was just one of many for Erastes. He would just have to wait, and in the meantime hope and trust this was not the case, at least anymore.

Harry really felt for the man that seemed very lonely. He had a distant wife, almost no friends, and a job that he didn't want. Harry knew very distinctly what it was like to have no friends. The entire Dursley family had, after all, taken it upon themselves to assure this fact. He could easily see the fact that as a quiet, reserved boy, Erastes would have had few friends. It was natural to ignore or fear what could not be understood. He was glad that Erastes had at least two friends. He himself hadn't had friends until he got to Hogwarts, and even now he had two best friends, about six close acquaintances, and a hundred or so people that he would consider acquaintances or hangers-on. And the man had a job that he was pushed into by his father. He could see the man's love of charms just from the charms on the letters he had sent. It seemed sad that such a passion and talent was wasted on the ministry.

Harry put the letter aside to reply to later. He dressed in his hand-me-downs from Dudley, made his bed, re-hid his library books, and slipped on his shoes. As he was about to leave, he noticed an owl about a couple hundred meters from his window, flying straight towards him. It had to be the OWL Results. He waited for the owl to arrive and relieved it of its burden. Before he could offer it a treat, it flew off. He quickly opened it, as he was already late, and scanned it. Seven OWLs, all told. Not bad. He hadn't been expecting History of Magic, Divination, or Astronomy to turn out all that well, after all. He had been sidetracked in two of them, and Divination was Divination. Then he realized that without an 'O' in Potions, he wouldn't be able to be in NEWT level Potions— which meant no being an Auror. But, he told himself, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be an Auror anymore anyway. He had just said it because he couldn't think of anything else. It was like a kid saying he wanted to be a policeman when he grew up. He didn't even know what kinds of jobs there were in the Wizarding world. He resolved to check it out when he got back to Hogwarts. It became number six on his list of things to research.

"Boy!"

Oh, crap, he was late. "Coming!" he shouted. And with that he raced down the stairs.

ooooooooooooooooo

Harry was weeding the garden when he heard a muffled sound coming from the fence. At first he thought it might be one of the neighbors, but then he realized that he didn't recognize the voice, or what the person was saying.

"_Ve rrge vings kerming vhy zagain, ooe bust tay till. Eery till. Izh callot shee oas iv ooe zare till."_

Harry sat very still, wondering what kind of language that was. It didn't sound like any language he knew, magical or not.

"What?" He whispered.

"_Oo, zhust tay till. Shh. Itzh callot shee us iv ooe are till."_

"Hello?"

Harry waited for a response for a good two minutes before he realized that one was going to come. He went back to weeding, albeit a little slower than before. After a couple minutes he forgot all about the strange whispering, and went right back to his former thoughts. Memories of his night with Lucius Malfoy had served him well the past two and a half weeks, occupying his mind while he worked. It certainly made his days less tedious. He thought about Lucius's normally steely eyes clouded with lust. He remembered the expression on his face when Harry lied for him. It was pure surprise, an odd emotion to see on the normally stoic man. Then it had become cool calcu—

"_Zhit gone? Ooe bust go vack to shunvathing. Ooe bust do oar pushes."_

There. He had definitely heard something. It seemed clearer that time, too.

"_Mow, mow!"_

Harry had opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything something darted out of the bushes and onto a rock a few feet away. It was a lizard. It was about 15 cm long, and green, with dark green and yellow spots in two rows down its back.

"_O, crack! Ve lrrge ving till dere! Tay till, it kern't shee ous."_

Harry's mouth opened in his shock. He could understand what it was saying! Well, not really. But he could hear words that vaguely sounded familiar coming out of its mouth, which was more than he could say for most people. He wondered if it was some sort of extension of his Parseltongue abilities.

"_Hello?" _he hissed at it.

"_Ooat? Ooat? Ooat ish dat?"_

Harry gasped. He understood it that time! It sounded garbled, but he head heard (he thought) _'what, what, what is that?'_

"_It's me. Harry."_

The lizard spun around to look up at him. _"Ze lrrg ding! Ooat doesh it shay?"_

"_I'm Harry. Can you understand me?" _Harry said very slowly.

"_Se lrrg ding! It shpeak to ous!" _

Harry realized that he was slowly becoming used to the accent that the lizard spoke with. It was becoming easier to understand. _"Can you understand what I'm saying?"_

After a pause, the lizard replied, _"Yrs."_

"_What is your name?"_

"_Ooat ish e mame?"_

"_A name is what you are called. I am called Harry." _

"_Ooe do mot habe e mame."_

"_Can I give you a name?"_

"_Yrs." _If it was possible for a lizard to sound indifferent, this one did.

Harry thought. A name for a lizard. A lizard. _"How does Lazarus sound?"_

"_Razres? Ooe egree."_

"_La-za-rus." _Harry thought that maybe the lizard was hearing his speech garbled as well.

Lazarus was speaking something, but all of a sudden Harry felt the world turn itself upside down. He put out a hand to support himself. He felt fine, so he just thought that it must have been a dizzy spell from the heat until Lazarus spoke again.

"_What is wrong with the large thing?" _

"_What?" _Harry realized that he could understand perfectly fine what Lazarus had said. It only sounded as if there was a gurgling sound in the background. He didn't know what happened, but it worked, and he wasn't going to complain.

"_Are you okay?"_

"_Yes. I can understand you perfectly now."_

"_We can too."_

Harry could think of nothing to say that didn't sound stupid. What was he supposed to say, _'So, sun bathing, huh?' _or _'What are you doing here?' _Lame.

Eventually, he didn't have to say anything. Lazarus spoke first. _"What do you do?"_

"_What am I doing, you mean?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I'm pulling weeds."_

"_Why?"_

"_My aunt and uncle told me to."_

"_What are aunt and uncle?"_

"_The are my female sire's sister and her mate."_

"_Ah. Why?"_

"_Why what?"_

"_Why do you do this?"_

"_I have to do chores."_

"_What are chores?"_

The conversation went like this for a while, Harry quietly hissing answers back and forth to the inquisitive lizard. It would have been annoying had it not been the first conversation longer than ten seconds he had had since getting to Privet Drive. The lizard had to ask the meaning of many words, and the reasons behind his actions, but after having to repeat himself a few times, Lazarus seemed to retain information. So, Lazarus slowly learned about the human world, and Harry supposed that he was relatively smart, for being a lizard.

By the end of the day, he had learned the way to a lizard's heart: its stomach. He fed it a worm that he had dug up, and after that it followed him around asking questions and demanding more food. It was quite funny to see Lazarus trailing behind him as he mowed the lawn, trying to shout to be heard above the racket of the lawnmower.

Eventually, he had learned to explain terms before Lazarus had to ask, and so conversations went much more smoothly than they did at first. So it turned out that while be pruned the roses and hedges, he spoke in a monologue to Lazarus about his problems, his concerns, and even told him about the Dursleys and about Erastes. Lazarus listened to his speech while sunbathing, and occasionally eating bugs which were either hunted by him or given to him by Harry. Lazarus, being an animal, had a simple yet humorous view of the world, and gave interesting advice. For example, he had told Lazarus that Ron and Hermione had yet to write. The concept of writing letters to communicate had taken a while to explain. Harry wasn't sure if he completely understood.

"_So what if they do not write? You need this not. You see them, greet them. If they give you a cricket, then it is okay. There is no need for the fretting about not seeing each other. It is that way with animals. They do not need _letters._"_

Harry thought Lazarus's way of explaining himself incredibly amusing, but understood the sentiments nonetheless. So, though the advice was humorous, he thought maybe it was the best type of advice. Keep things simple. He would see them eventually, they would most likely apologize, and then they could tell him what went on in person. The unnecessary angst was just bringing him down.

"_Or you could write them first." _

There was that. Was it bad that it was a sort of test to see how long it would take for them to finally write to him? He felt like a woman scorned, or a jealous lover or something. One thing that made him reconsider this plan was the mark that had showed up on his arm. It was still there, and he still had no clue what it meant. He could write Hermione and ask her. If anything, she might be able to tell him a) if sudden marks were common, b) what it meant and c) why it showed up. But then each time he was about to write to ask her, he stopped. The mark just seemed so intensely personal that he couldn't bring himself to share it with another person. Speaking of the mark…

"_Lazarus, do you know what this mark means?" _Harry bent down and showed the lizard his arm.

"_We do not know. Marks have no meaning. They just are."_

"_This one does, I think."_

"_Then we do not know."_

Harry had to finish the rest of his chores inside. He knew that he could probably convince the lizard to come with him inside, but it didn't feel right asking him to be a pet just yet. Lizards were outdoor creatures, and as long as he had someone— ahem, some_thing_— to talk to and confide in, he was happy, and he knew that Lazarus would be happier outside.

But for the rest of summer, whenever he was outside, Lazarus would come to him. He would tell him of his life, and ask about Lazarus's (though his version was much shorter and simpler). He taught him more and more words and terms, and even began to teach him to understand words in human language. Mostly simple words that would be used with any pet, like 'stop,' 'Lazarus,' 'hungry,' etc. Harry hoped that when he left for the summer, Lazarus might accompany him. He knew he couldn't speak Parseltongue or Lizardtongue or whatever to the lizard all the time, as it would make people uncomfortable, so he decided on a compromise. A mix. Mostly English in front of his friends, and mostly Lizardtongue when they were alone.

Now all he had to do was convince Lazarus to come with him.

ooooooooooooooooo

Harry walked into the kitchen on Friday to find his aunt standing there with a banana in one hand, and a slice of bread in the other. She didn't even bother with a plate. She just walked up to Harry, slapped the bread, then the banana into his hand and said, "This is your lunch. I'm going grocery shopping." And she left.

As soon as she had shut the door, he raced up to his room. He hadn't had a free moment to write to Erastes yet, and it had already been four days. The letter was sitting where he had left it on his desk. He, like always, already had formulated a reply mentally. He wrote:

_Dear Erastes,_

_Please don't worry about my relatives. I'm fine. I'd rather not talk about it, really. _

_I did gather that you are older than me, so I'm not surprised. I have to admit, though, I don't really like the fact that you're married. Frigid wife or not. Something doesn't seem right about that to me. I'd feel like '_the other woman,_' or man, or something. _

_I completely understand your loneliness. Before I went to Hogwarts, and every summer that I have to come back here, I am shunned. Everyone around here thinks that I am some sort of hoodlum, and I go to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, so everyone pretty much stays away from me. I, too, was a quiet child, and that added to my bad reputation and made sure that no one stayed my friend for too long. In fact, I've quite gotten used to quiet times, and find myself missing them when I am with the boisterous company of my house mates. It's so different for me, to go from the silence of my summers to the loudness of Hogwarts. They are all pretty much nice people, though, so it's not too bad. Hogwarts is more of a home to me than here, after all. _

_But as much as things are rowdy at Hogwarts, sometimes I feel so alone. It really gives meaning to the whole '_It's lonely at the top,' _thing. Not that I'm implying I think I'm better than anyone else. I just feel so different. Everyone expects me to be their hero, all charismatic and everything, but I can't really do that. And I think my fame pushes some people away, while it draws others in. It's the people that don't care about my fame that I really want to get to know, and the ones that are attracted to it that I want to push away. I hate not knowing whether anybody's trying to get close to the 'Boy Who Lived,' and not me, Harry. Plus nobody really knows that I come home to summers like this. I think they'd be disappointed if they knew the truth._

_It makes me sad that you are so lonely. You seem fine in your letters, though. I wish there was something I could do. _

_I feel that you have me at a disadvantage. You know about me, but I hardly know anything about you. I only really know that you are an older male, who is married, besides the other things I might have gleaned from your hints. So I ask you to tell me about yourself. You don't have to give away your identity yet, but I'd like to know more about you. _

_As for my OWL results, I think I did fine. I got seven OWLs. History of Magic and Divination were a loss, anyway. Both of those classes are a joke. I'm sure one of my friends, Hermione, got better than me, but I don't really care. The only thing is that I didn't get a good enough grade to get into Professor Snape's NEWT level Potions class, so I can't be an Auror. I don't really know anymore if that's what I wanted to do. I just said it. I don't know what types of jobs there are out there for wizards. _

_As for that closing fact, here it is: I just befriended a lizard. I named him Lazarus. It turns out that I can understand lizards. I guess it is a byproduct of understanding Parseltongue. It just sounded garbled at first, but now it's fine. Lazarus is pretty funny. He only speaks about himself in the plural. I go outside and talk to him as much as possible now. It's funny to hear the advice he gives because it's so lizard-like. The other day, he told me to bite my uncle because he was yelling at me. He's also told me my friends should give me crickets. It's quite funny. But it is nice to have someone to talk to. _

_I hope to hear from you soon,_

_Eromenos_

With that done, he folded the letter, sealed it, and whistled and called for Hedwig. After a few minutes, she still hadn't shown up, but just as he was about to call again when he saw her white form flapping towards his window.

"Here, girl. I want you to send this to my secret admirer, alright?"

Hedwig bobbed her head. He gave her a couple own treats, and then she dropped from his window, furiously flap-flapping up, up and away.

ooooooooooooooooo

Harry had read every word of the three books he had rented from the library on Basque mythology and medieval beliefs and practices. He still didn't know how it all related to him. He still felt excited when he thought of the god Sugaar, also known as Sugoi or Maju, as they were interchangeable. The words felt oddly familiar to him. But he still didn't feel ready. Prophyta had said he would know. He was so frustrated. He needed more answers! He couldn't just read books and be ready. He wished he had a way to contact her. He flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

He didn't know if he had fallen asleep, or how long for, but when he opened his eyes something felt different. A prickling feeling made him turn to look at his desk.

"Finally up?"

It was Prophyta.

"OH, my God!" He jumped and fell out of bed.

She chuckled.

"You have questions," she stated, as he got up and sat on his bed.

"Yes."

"I understand."

"What—" he began to ask his first question, but was cut off.

"No, just let me explain. You know of Sugaar, the god. He was the consort to Mari, who was in turn, his consort. Sugaar mated with a Scottish princess in Mundaka. She had his child, and he became the Lord of Biscay. She, against his wishes, returned to Scotland, though she knew that she would be disowned for having a child out of wedlock. But she never knew that by touching her, he had marked her."

"Was she a witch?"

"No. She was a muggle. But it was foreseen that one of her ancestors would commune with Sugaar again, and help him."

Harry was beginning to get a niggling feeling in the back of his mind.

"It was you, Harry. That Scottish princess was one of your ancestors, from hundreds of years ago. You are his avatar. You will help him. It has been put down by the fates. It has been spoken by our _Aztiak_, our soothsayers, that you must reestablish the balance in the Wizarding world by defeating an evil. "

Oh, he _knew it! _Nothing ever went right for him, did it? Why couldn't he have a _normal _life? He just wanted to be a normal teen, whose only problem was finding out if a boy liked him or not. There was always something freakish or huge that happened to him, and this was no exception. This seemed bigger than Voldemort (assuming that the evil he had to defeat wasn't, in fact, Voldemort). He had to save the fucking world? What the hell? How did the worst stuff always happen to him? He had thought facing the Dark Lord at eleven, or a huge ass basilisk at twelve was bad. That was nothing compared to this. How the hell was he supposed to even start? What was he to do? It was so hugely overwhelming and impossible to even wrap his mind around. He was beginning to feel faint, but Prophyta continued as if nothing was wrong.

"When you are ready, you must come. This," she gently touched his lightening bolt scar, "marked you as one with potential. When you became an adult, you received this," she pointed at the odd mark on his arm, "you will be coming in to your powers. I suspect you already have begun. We will help you on your quest. When you come, we must perform a ritual, to help you."

"A… a ritual?" he asked faintly, still feeling dizzy.

"It will help you control your powers, to ground you. And we will teach you to use them."

"A-alright." He was too confused to fight. And he could hear the truth and conviction in her voice. If he didn't go, something bad would happen. He needed to learn control. He could be angry at fate, for blowing up his entire life and making him some sort of freak, later. By now he should be used to odd, freaky, amazing things that happened only to him, right?

"Am I ready? Are we going?"

"If you have to ask, you are not. But soon." And then she was gone again.

* * *

So, can you tell me what you think about the letters? I mean, if you like reading what the actually say, or id you'd prefer them to be just summarized? I do have them all written out, but I can change that if people are bored reading letters.

Also, Lazarus does say real stuff before Harry can understand him, but it's not important to the story. It's just him talking to himself. If you want, I can put the 'translation' at the end here, but just know it's not necessary.

* * *

Review, please!

-Boom.


	12. Balayé

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

**Warning: **attempted non-con, and grossness ahead!

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 12: Balayé

On Monday, Harry received two letters, one earlier than he had expected and the other later than he had expected. The first, of course, was from Erastes, and the second from Sirius. He had written Sirius a letter two weeks before and only now had he gotten a reply. Basically, the letter stated that he was still on a mission, he couldn't say where, of course, but that it was going well and he hoped it would be finished soon. He also mentioned that he had spoken to Dumbledore about Harry spending time with him after his bout at the Dursleys, and Dumbledore, surprise surprise, had said no.

It didn't help that Sirius was still on the run, and staying for the summer hiding out with a convict wasn't the best idea. And that was besides the fact that he had already mentioned to Harry that staying at Grimmauld Place would be a bad idea because of all the Order members. Harry just thought that they didn't want him underfoot. Sirius did write that Harry would probably be going to the Burrow for the remainder of summer, and wasn't that great? He said that it would be best because he would be happier with his friends at the Weasleys', with people his own age and being able to play around and have fun, not like at Grimmauld Place.

The cynical side of Harry thought that Dumbledore wanted him to be under the influence of the decidedly light family. Grimmauld Place, and Sirius, after all, were more sinister than the Burrow and the Weasleys. And Sirius had always been rebellious. Probably was considered a loose canon and an unknown liability when it came to Harry. But the other side of Harry told himself that they just wanted him to be with the only real family he had ever known and for him to be with his friends.

The other letter was quite thick. This time it was charmed to be a Pegasus that flew in lazy circles and dips around the room. When he held his hand out, it landed and unfolded in his palm. Inside the letter was also a thick pamphlet. Harry set that aside. The letter read:

_Dear Eromenos,_

_Please do not let my marriage dissuade you. When it comes to matters of the heart, it is my wife that is, as you put it, 'the other woman.' To me, she is only the mother of my child, and an obligation to be fulfilled. And she feels the same way. We have never cared for each other, I am afraid. I believe that if I called for divorce, though it would cause a great commotion in the Wizarding world as it is looked down upon, she would sign it in an instant. _

_It distresses me that you are so lonely. I hope these letters between us help. I know they help me. I am glad that you like your year mates. It seems you have found yourself some good friends. Keep in mind that it is natural for all people to feel lonely at times. And it is a product of power of any kind— riches, fame, magical, or political power— to be lonely at times. So do not feel bad. It is only that you feel it all the more because you did not choose it, nor did you consciously do anything to have it. But you can use it to your advantage. They are going to show deference to you no matter what, whether you want it or not; it shouldn't go to waste. You can change the world into a better place. Since you study anyway, I would recommend studying politics and history so you can fully understand what is going on. I have faith in you; if anyone can transform our world, it would be you._

_I congratulate you on your OWL results. You did very well. I believe your scores would put you in the middle 80__th__ percentile. I myself received nine OWLs, but because my father would not have accepted any less. My father was very domineering and demanded much of me. I have also included a pamphlet of Wizarding professions for you to peruse._

_I admit that my life may seem incredibly lonely, but I am used to it. I almost prefer it. I have never been one for ostentatious balls filled with people who only attend to show off to each other. But I do admit that I enjoy your letters immensely. They bring me such joy. _

_I had wondered when you would ask for more information about me. I had expected it sooner, considering your insatiable curiosity. I will tell you some facts about myself, then. I enjoy reading, riding horses, and swimming. I appreciate animals greatly. My property has a number of animals roaming free on it— both magical and not. The crowning piece of my collection is the pair of hippocampus that I have. But, surprisingly enough, my favorite animal is the kneazle. I have always admired their precocious intelligence and elegant grace. I enjoy music quite a lot. I listen to the Wizarding wireless, but I prefer my own collection of muggle records. It was an investment that cost quite a bit to charm a muggle record player to work on magic, much like the Wizarding wireless sets. My favorite types of music are opera, and orchestral classical music. _

_I speak French fluently, as it was my first language. Though I was born in England I spent a majority of my life till I was eight in France. I have a son. My favorite book is _Ennio's Vigil_, because the main character reminds me so much of what I aspire to be like. My favorite food is Coq au Vin, but only if done correctly. It can be considered a plebian dish, but it reminds me of my childhood. _

_Many people think I hate all things muggle, because I am proud of my Wizarding heritage. This is not the case. I love muggle cars, though I admit that I charm them myself. I also love fine wines, and French wine is my favorite, followed by Spanish wine. _

_I hope that this enlightens you about me, and you feel we are on equal ground. I myself think I might have said too much as, though you are the 'Boy Who Lived,' and though I know a bit more about you that the average witch or wizard doesn't know, I know nothing of you personally. I know not your likes or dislikes, your abilities or your favorite things. Anything you are willing to tell me I would love to know. Please do not feel any pressure to say anything if you do not want. I'd like to know about you on your own terms, and because you feel safe enough with me to confide in me. _

_I remain yours,_

_Erastes_

Harry smiled and, letter in hand, went outside to read the letter to Lazarus. He found him in the front garden. Lazarus didn't really understand most of the letter, as lizards didn't have things like wireless sets, or cars, or wine. Nor had he ever even thought of there being another world outside of Privet Drive, nothing to say about there being a place called France. Harry just wanted to have someone to tell. He tried to explain as much as possible to Lazarus, but after a while the lizard had gotten bored. Harry personally was very shocked at the amount of personal information that had been put into the letter. It only increased his hope that the sender was Lucius Malfoy. It almost fit him to a T, besides the whole liking muggle thing. The letter had said that people thought that he hated muggle things, which is exactly what he thought of Mr. Malfoy, but nonetheless he couldn't believe Lucius Malfoy of all people loved records and charming cars. It just didn't fit. But he supposed everyone thought that of his admirer. He didn't know what to think. But from the likes and activities of the person, he could see that it was a very wealthy person. Cars, wine, traveling, animals, horse riding, they were all indicative of the very wealthy. And wasn't Malfoy a French name? And the person had a wife and son. But then he remembered he was basing all this off of his personal hope and fantasies that had come from one single night of passion, and tried to think more realistically.

Harry wasn't sure what he thought about potentially breaking up a marriage, but supposed that if it was socially acceptable to date a man that was already divorced, why not date a man that knew he was in a loveless marriage, and was just waiting for a reason to divorce? Er, right?

Anyway, Lazarus said that if Harry was a better mate than the wife, it was only natural for his admirer to want to have Harry. Survival of the fittest, relationship style. Sounded like a bad TV show.

Harry was interested that Erastes had given him advice for the first time. And it was pretty drastic, too. He supposed he understood the reasoning, but who would listen to a kid like him? Change the world? Not likely. It seemed pretty dramatic to go out and study politics so he could change the world. Maybe in like, ten years. But, for Erastes's sake, he supposed reading a book or two on politics wasn't so bad. He'd already started on history. Apparently, _Art of War _was a good political book, or maybe something from the Political Science section of the library. And now he wanted to read _Ennio's Vigil _so he could learn more about his admirer, and maybe there would be more hints as to his identity. Harry had never heard of the book, and assumed that it must be a magical book.

Reading over the letter the second time made Harry realize how different he was to Erastes. He seemed so young, and so coarse in comparison to this man. He didn't know what he liked because he had never been able to experience it. He didn't like opera, or wine, didn't know the first thing about riding horses, and didn't speak another language. He wasn't even old enough to drive, nonetheless have a _car collection. _He hoped, not for the first time, that the person was being sincere, as it seemed too good to be true.

A call interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, Harry!" It was Mr. Number Fourteen. Johnson or Johnston or something.

"Er, hello." Harry didn't know how to react. No one ever _willingly _said hello to him.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine, sir."

"No, I mean, really. Is everything okay?"

"Uh… yes, sir?"

Mr. Whatever stared at him intensely for an uncomfortable few seconds before he smiled broadly, "Good, good. Well, have a nice day."

He turned and walked off.

ooooooooooooooooo

Harry, despite his fears of being considered too immature or too coarse by his admirer, decided to reciprocate, and tell Erastes a little about himself. He supposed that as long as it wasn't anything that could be used against him, or wasn't anything that someone could find out from watching him or asking one of his friends, he could put some personal information in the letter. Writing it definitely made him realize how young and inferior he seemed.

_Dear Erastes,_

_You know you just implied that I would be basically breaking up your marriage? Whether or not your wife or you are willing to divorce, you have yet to. Excuse me if I'm being presumptuous by assuming that you were inferring that you would be willing to divorce your wife for me. When I put it like that, it seems very presumptuous, especially considering we are only exchanging letters right now. It might make you laugh to hear that Lazarus said that it is only in the natural process of things that you would want a younger, fitter lover. He doesn't get the concept of fidelity._

_I'm not sure how I feel about going into politics. I'm too young; no one would listen to me. I understand what you mean, though, in the fact that I might as well use my influence for good. Politics seems so complicated. I've already been reading some history books, but next time I go to the library I'll pick out some politics books, just because you said so. Thank you for the pamphlet on Wizarding professions. I didn't know there were so many! I think I wouldn't mind being a potions ingredients harvester, even if I hate potions. Traveling around the world seems like so much fun. I could also make a really good snake antivenin harvester, considering my affinity with snakes. I like Quidditch a lot, but I'm not sure whether I would want to play it professionally, but being a manager or recruiter would be good. I'd be able to travel a lot then, too. _

_Your facts about you were very interesting. If I had any doubt before as to your social class, I wouldn't now. It intrigues me that people think that you hate all things muggle, but you don't really. How does one like you get in to muggle things? _

_As for some personal facts about me, I have to tell you now that I'm not nearly as exciting as you. Not only am I younger and not as wealthy as you, my muggle family hasn't really let me do anything my entire life, so all my experiences have come from the past five years of being at Hogwarts. _

_My favorite books are ones that have contemporary parallels, like _1984_, _A Brave New World_, and _Fahrenheit 451_. It's interesting to read and see how similar things are to the fantasy from back then. Similarly, I also like to read fantasy, now that I've seen the magical world. It's really interesting to see how close some Muggles get to the truth. I have to hide the books, though, because my family hates magic. I like to play Quidditch, and ride my broom, but I bet you already knew that. I do like to go out and try out acrobatic moves on my broom when I'm alone, though. _

_My favorite food is Treacle Tart. It's so sweet and smooth. My favorite non-dessert would probably be mince pies. Besides that, I can't drive, or drink wine, or speak a foreign language, so you'll have to forgive me. Maybe that in itself can be a fact about me. I have never been off the island of Great Britain, I have never ridden a horse, I have never had wine. Does it bother you that I am so inexperienced?_

_Now that we have confessed so much to each other, I find myself wanting to know more. It feels almost as if we are friends already. If I promise not to blow up, will you tell me who you are? I'd really like to know. If you're not ready, that's fine. _

_I anxiously await your reply,_

_Eromenos_

Harry really did feel some sense of familiarity with Erastes, even though they had only exchanged letters so far. He really hoped that the next letter he received would hold the man's identity.

ooooooooooooooooo

Thursday night, Harry came awake suddenly to see someone standing over his bed. He would have liked to be more aware of his surroundings when sleeping, but after sharing a dorm with Neville and Ron for five years, he had learned to ignore even the loudest noises while sleeping. Considering that it was the third time so far that summer that he had awoken to find someone hovering over him, he would have thought that he would have been less startled.

"WHOA my God!" At least he didn't fall from his bed this time.

It was Dudley again, and he definitely had his hand down his pants this time. In fact, he had his erect member all the way out, his pants undone and his boxers pulled down, and was furiously fisting his little cock in a hammy hand. Harry, not fully awake, was surprised that a fatass moron like Dudley could so effectively sneak in on him when he was sleeping.

"Dudley, _what _are you doing?" he hissed. He had hoped that his warning would have kept him away, but it seemed he had forgotten in the three intervening weeks.

"I've seen you. You're trying to make me gay! I know what you're doing, going in to the garden and sitting there on your hands and knees all the time."

"What— Dudley, I was doing chores." _And talking to Lazarus, _but Harry didn't think that that would help him any in this situation.

"No, you're trying to make me gay. Like you, you little faggot."

"You can't _make _somebody gay. And we already established that you were already gay."

"I'm _not, _you're just trying to tempt me into making me gay. I bet you're using m-_magic_ on me, aren't you?" he gasped, as if it had just occurred to him. "You are, aren't you?!"

Harry merely stared at him, dumbfounded.

Dudley's hand, which had paused, now resumed its work on his cock. "Well, I'll show you."

"Dudley, that is one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen. I think I'm scared straight. That's just repulsive."

"Oh _yeah?_" screeched Dudley, his voice raised, and he very suddenly lunged at Harry. He tackled Harry to the bed, his hands on his shoulders, straddling his waist. Harry, being probably half his weight, couldn't buck Dudley off no matter how hard he tried. He struggled, writhed, and kicked, all to no avail. The only sound in the room was the rustling of fabric, the sound of bodies slapping together and hard breathing. Out of context, it probably sounded like rough sex. _Gross._

Dudley's boxing training allowed him to hang on to Harry without seeming to feel his cousin's hits. Harry was panicking. He didn't have a chance if he only stuck to physical combat, unless he could somehow get away. That didn't seem likely, at least not before something bad happened. Dudley, on the other hand, seemed to misinterpret Harry's struggles, or maybe he just liked it anyway because he was a sadist, but either way, he was getting more and more turned on. His penis was rock hard and bare against Harry's pajama pants, and he was moaning. Harry gagged.

Dudley bent his face down and bit Harry's lip, pressing their lips together in a mockery of a kiss. Harry felt something welling up inside of him, and thought, _So this is what it's like to be raped. _But he would never know for sure, as right at that moment, two things happened. One, Dudley successfully forced his tongue in his mouth, and two, something wild and fiery burst forth from Harry. His eyes, which had previously been screwed shut, snapped open just in time to see a bolt of what looked like lightening come from his chest and crash into Dudley's. The lightening struck Dudley, and the ceiling, and the wall, and the bed frame, all out of control. Dudley, who had been thrown by the force of the impact to hit the door, stood dazed. Harry realized, idly, that _now he was ready. _

Harry lay in bed, completely exhausted from his magical outburst, and breathing hard. He heard a commotion in the master bedroom.

"What is that infernal noise? BOY?" came muffled through the walls.

"Shit! Shit, shit! Dudley, look what you did!"

That seemed to snap Dudley, who had been dazed and standing with fearful eyes staring at Harry, out of a stupor. "You did _magic _on me! I'm gonna tell! Oooh, you're gonna get in so much trouble!"

"You tell and I'll tell them what you were doing in here!" Harry hissed back. Dudley looked fearful at this. He could hear the thundering of footsteps coming towards his room. As Dudley was already inside, Vernon wouldn't be delayed by having to unlock his door at all. They didn't have any time. Harry could see emotions warring on his cousin's face. Fear, shock, fear, hate, and more fear.

Just as Vernon opened the door, Dudley stepped away from the wall and stood above Harry's bed, outraged.

"Dud? What are you doing in here?" Vernon asked, his expression angry, shocked and confused.

"Uh… uh… Well… I..." Dudley looked down, as if just realizing that his pants were still down and his penis out. "I was… I came in to piss on the freak!"

_Oh. My. God. _No. No. No. No, he was NOT going to piss on him, the fucker! What the _fuck_. The night had gone from bad to worse. Then again, it was better than being raped, right?

Before he could protest, Dudley already had his hands on his member and had begun to let out a stream of warm, yellow liquid onto Harry's chest.

Vernon chuckled, "Atta boy, Dud."

"Yeah, dad," Dudley said, without taking his eyes off of Harry. His eyes promised great pain if Harry so much as said a word. Harry supposed that at least Dudley hadn't mentioned the magic. It seemed that Dudley's fear of coming out of the closet outweighed his fear of magic.

Harry lay shocked, feeling the warm liquid trickle down his body and onto the bed. His fat cousin finished pissing with a couple shakes, and tucked himself back in.

"Good boy, Dud," Vernon said, slapping his son on the back. Dudley turned away and went to the door.

Vernon, apparently satisfied with Harry's punishment, and seeming too tired to care, slapped Harry hard across the face once, and left.

Harry was seething. His anger had passed the kind of loud, explosive anger, and turned into a quiet, more dangerous anger. It was the type of anger that exacted revenge months later. He had gotten _pissed _on. His clothes were wet and smelly, his bed was wet and smelly, and _he _was wet and smelly. But at least he knew that now he was ready. Prophyta was right. He did know when it was time. Tomorrow, he would go. And then later he would get his revenge. For now, he changed his pajamas, dried himself with some dirty clothes, flipped the mattress over, opened the window, and fantasized about how sweet revenge would be.

* * *

So... (giggles nervously)... sorry if that last scene grossed you out. Personally, I think it's so wrong that it becomes great.

I've had a shitty couple of days, trying to figure out this internship in China thing, so please review to make me happy!

OH, and thanks to all the people that reviewed last chapter! I always forget to thank people, though I do try to personally respond to all replies :)


	13. Interlude 4

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

INTERLUDE 4:

Lucius spelled himself dry as he walked up the ramp to get out of the pool. The main body of the pool was as deep and long as an Olympic sized pool, but one end had a gradual beach-like incline to exit from instead of using the ladder. He took time to swim laps every day, in order to keep his fit physique. The house elves had left a pitcher of water and a towel under a heating charm on a table for him. He wrapped the towel around his waist, covering his swimming costume, though he was already dry.

He walked directly to his rooms, encountering no one on the walk across the manor, not that he expected to. Narcissa, the bitch, was vacationing in Elba. How appropriate that his own little Napoleon would escape to that Mediterranean island. And his Draco was spending the weekend in France with some friends. That dark skinned boy Zabini boy and that Parkinson chit, he thought. It wasn't that he did not care about his son, or his son's life, quite the opposite really. It was just that as Draco spent so much time away from home, it was hard to keep his friends straight. He sighed and pushed open the left door to his rooms. His son was growing up so fast, it felt like he was just slipping away. It didn't help that he had sent his son away to Hogwarts at a mere eleven years of age. His little, precious boy. The light in his bleak life filled with backstabbing lords and ladies, a cold wife, and a horrible ministry position he hadn't even wanted. And now Draco was almost a man. His son had friends and a life of his own that didn't always include his father. Lucius remembered Draco's outright adoration of him before he left for Hogwarts. He was sure Draco still admired him, but the boy had matured to the point where his father was no longer the center of his world. And Lucius hadn't even been able to watch it happen.

In the closet, Lucius peeled off his swimming costume and dropped both it and the towel on the floor without a second thought. He stood naked in the walk-in closet, debating what to wear. Eventually, he decided on a black set of acromantula silk robes with a silver brocade vest that made him look more imposing than usual. If he was correct in what the reactions would be to his actions today, he would need it. He just could not stand when people attempted to convince him to do something he did not want to. As if he could be swayed from his decisions by their pandering. He tucked the body of his snake cane under his arm, and buttoned the black pearl buttons on his neck and wrists as he exited the closet.

He directed a spell at the Muggle record player in the corner, and directed it to begin playing. The sounds of Rachmaninoff filled the air. As he splashed some wrinkle protection potion on his face and neck, he made a mental note to buy more that day. His eyes strayed to the writing desk in his room, on which sat the letters he had received so far from Harry. At first, he had begun the correspondence based on sexual attraction and not a little intrigue. Actually, quite a lot of intrigue. Harry had interested him so much more than any other person had in decades. He had been so puzzled and attracted by the teen's actions that night in the Department of Mysteries. The Boy Who Lived had given himself to him, and then proceeded to protect him (_him, _of all people!) and lie, allowing Lucius to leave without condemnation. Besides that, the young man was very attractive, and very powerful. All in all, not a bad start to something. But Lucius had written to Harry with a view of the teen Savior that had been completely blasted out of the water.

He had no doubts that everything the letters said was the complete truth. Hidden Slytherin tendencies or not, Harry was still a Gryffindor. And Gryffindors thought themselves too _noble _to lie. Though indeed, taken at face value, the letters were surprising but not earth shattering. But the letters had been written in an almost Slytherin manner, subtly hinting at deeper things that Lucius was also sure he was supposed to get. He understood why, really. No self-respecting person would admit outright in a letter, especially to a stranger, of being mistreated.

But the mere fact that there had been abuse in the first place was what had truly astounded him. He had gotten the impression that the Boy Who Lived was indulged at home. Severus had only reinforced that notion with stories of the arrogant and self-centered Savior. But Severus must have been mistaken, either by his own fault or some willful deception on the part of the Boy Who Lived (Lucius wouldn't put it past him, knowing now what he did). He also remembered the mutual animosity between Severus and James Potter at Hogwarts. Severus, for all that he appeared stoic in public, could be very fervent and opinionated. It was part of what attracted Lucius to Severus, all those years ago (he felt a little regretful that they had slowly drifted apart the last 15 or so years). But sometimes those impassioned emotions could get in the way of logic.

Lucius could see that Harry was, in reality, completely different than he had thought. The story of the kitten he had treated, and even that lizard, just proved that he was all heart. Not the arrogant boy he had thought. Not that he had a problem with arrogance—as long as it was founded. He himself was arrogant after all.

Lucius, over the course of the last few weeks, had found his mind straying quite often to the teen. He was truly an enigma. How could a person be treated so poorly, but at the same time remain open to love and empathetic? How could one be so overtly Gryffindor, but at the same time be so Slytherin? How could he stand to be reviled during the summer, and admired during the rest of the year? All things considered, he was extraordinarily well adjusted. How could so many people be so wrong about him? Lucius, at times, felt truly privileged to have a glimpse into the real workings of the dark haired wizard.

He walked over to the writing desk. On it also laid drafts of the letters he had written in reply. He picked up all of Harry's letters and perused them again. It struck him, once more, how lonely Harry seemed, especially in the second letter. Not only was he completely shunned over the summers, but the teen had confessed to feeling lonely even at school. He supposed everyone felt that way at times; or at least he had when he was that age. His feeling of unsuitability in Gryffindor was interesting as well. It made Harry seem quite Slytherin-like. Lucius was also surprised how inexperienced in all things Harry was, though it made sense when he had thought about it. Draco had been well traveled and well learned, even by the time he had left for Hogwarts. He grew up listening to music, learning foreign languages, traveling, and drinking wine. Harry's lack of experience definitely coincided with the neglect Lucius suspected he experienced. In fact, the teen's lack of experience wasn't off-putting at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was so pure, such a clean slate, that it excited Lucius to think about it.

In fact, Lucius was _almost _reluctant to do anything with the teen, because he was so pure. He felt as if he would be sullying the pure-hearted boy, even more than he already had. Harry was so… gracious, it would be like sullying freshly fallen snow. But that reluctance did not last long, as he realized that that it came from a subconscious fear that Harry could do better than he. But then he realized that he _was _the best. He was Lucius Malfoy. And anyway, Malfoys always got what they wanted, and never held back from their desires. And the Boy Who Lived— no, _Harry_— was what he wanted. Besides that, the deep, dark part of Lucius was excited by the prospect of sullying the boy, of staking his claim on him. He loved the idea of having an innocent partner to guide, and to influence. Especially one so powerful, both socially and magically. Because that power was a siren that called to him. He fully admitted to himself that he was attracted to power. And to be the one to guide that power? _Mmm._

But it was becoming more than that. It was the power, the beauty and the innocence, all together. It was the powerful, but abused boy that cared so much for others. It was the fact that he, too, was lonely. It was the fact that, though it couldn't be said they had the same interests, they understood each other on a deeper level. That deeper understanding was something that Lucius hadn't experienced in so, so long. It was so rare it made his heart race. It was the love and compassion Harry still held for the Muggles that had ill-treated him, and the Wizarding world that had in turns adored and betrayed him. It was the calculating and yet innocent intelligence that shone clearly from behind deep emerald eyes. It was the determination, the passion, that he had seen in the Department of Mysteries. And it was the fact that he had risked his own life because he loved his godfather so much. And the fact that he had friends that were _so_ _loyal_ to him that they were willing to risk their own lives for him as well. He wanted to know what kind of a person could inspire that kind of loyalty in friends.

He was addicted.

And he was jealous. He wanted to inspire the type of devotion in Harry that his godfather did. He wanted to be the object of his affections. He wanted someone, for probably the first time, to be dedicated to him, and not his money, or his power, or themselves. He didn't want to be constantly wondering about a person's motivations, or when they would betray him. At Hogwarts, he had thought Hufflepuffish loyalty to be foolish to the extreme. But now that he had grown up, and been deceived time and time again, he began to tire of the suspicion, and of distancing himself from others. He wanted someone that he could trust implicitly. But that self-serving attitude, contrary to popular belief, was not just a Slytherin thing. It was true, Slytherins were cunning, and at times deceptive and self-serving, but they stayed together. Deception and betrayal was more of a high-society and politics thing, which was not constrained only to Slytherins.

So Lucius had found himself unexpectedly pouring his heart out to the dark haired young man. He had told him things that he had not ever outright told anyone. He had confessed his feelings of loneliness, his secret penchants and addictions, and even his dislike for balls. Lucius was sure people would be astonished if they knew of his secret aversion to balls, but then again not as shocked as if they knew of his feelings of loneliness. It went against his very nature to confess those weaknesses, especially to someone that could very well use it against him, but it had felt like a catharsis to admit to those things. And he knew enough of Harry's good heart to know that he would never use his weaknesses against him, as long as he wasn't betrayed first.

Lucius was more than glad of Lord Voldemort's return to sanity. Not only for the sake of the Dark faction, but also that he had gotten permission to court Harry, belated though the permission was. Lucius admitted to himself that he probably would have continued the correspondence even without permission from his lord. Now he had to consider how he would reveal himself to Harry, or if he even would.

He checked his watch, suddenly realizing the lateness of the hour. He had a lot to do today.

First, he checked the man he had put under the _Imperius _curse to watch over Harry and make sure he was alright. Then, he met with his solicitor and business manager. He allowed them to take him out to lunch. Then, he went over to the nameless potions store and bought his weekly batch of health and beauty potions. They were quite sensitive in nature (and not to mention slightly illegal) and could not be flooed or owled. Plus, he did not trust his house elves to be able to accurately check for quality.

He picked up his new silk shirt from the tailor, bought a new quill, and browsed the jewelry store. He went into the bookstore to see if the book he had special-requested had come in; it hadn't. He did, however, find an interesting book on defense that he thought Harry might like. He bought that.

Lucius hated shopping. It was quite tiresome. He felt like people were always staring and whispering about him. It also took quite a bit of energy to sneer so much and make constant disparaging remarks. He hated the looks of revulsion and scorn that he received from other shoppers just as much as he hated the fawning and sycophancy of the store owners. Everyone had their own opinion of him, though none actually knew him. He knew that even some of the store owners, who were so obsequious to his face, secretly detested him. It was almost depressing. And no one ever understood his subtle sense of humor, which always made him a little bitter.

After a visit to Borgin and Burkes, in which he actually refused an ancient, and deadly, cursed object, he decided he had waited long enough, and turned down the third corridor on the left in Knockturn Alley. On the way to his last destination, he stopped by Madame X's Outfittery, though he would never admit to stalling. He was just submitting to temptation. If it made him arrive a little later to his destination, so be it.

Though he wasn't actually in the market for leather clothes, bondage wear, whips, or gags, he did find himself admiring quite a few of the more illicit goods that Madame X offered. He stayed away from the more hardcore items, including the full face-mask that looked like a leather balaclava, but with metal rings and zippers. After a while of debating on the appropriateness of having such an article of clothing, he decided that Malfoys always got what they wanted, and gave his measurements to have a pair of custom leather pants made. In the end, he also bought a crossover chest-harness, and a lower body harness, as well as a pair of ankle cuffs and a pair of wrist cuffs— all in leather, size small. It was always good to be prepared. But it wouldn't do to keep his hopes up, either. Then again, _Malfoys always got what they wanted. _And he wanted Harry in a body harness and cuffs. Willingly (because as much as his sadistic side loved nonconsensual submission, it would be even sweeter to have it be with his assent).

Finally, he entered his last destination: Eden. The exterior was purposefully made to look inconspicuous. The inside, on the other hand, was a tastefully decorated sitting room and reception area. The walls and floors were well-cared for hardwood, with elaborate crown moudling that rivaled that at Malfoy Manor. Plush rugs and rich furniture were clustered about the room. Overhead hung a large, crystal chandelier, which Lucius was sure was real. He wouldn't have dreamt of frequenting such a place if it wasn't.

As soon as he stepped in the door, the aptly named Madame Eve herself rushed over to him. She was a petite, fiery redhead, though he suspected that everything about her— from her name to her red hair— was fake. She wore a long, lacy, feathery shawl that trailed on the ground behind her.

"Lord Malfoy, how lovely to see you," she greeted, an obsequious smile on her face.

"Madame Eve," he greeted cordially, if not a little coolly. He internally steeled himself for the conversation to come. He didn't want to have it, not because he was worried about hurting anyone's feelings, but because he just _knew _she was going to make a big commotion out of it. And, oh, how he _hated _commotion.

"Ezekiel is getting ready for you, if you'd just wait?"

"Actually, that is what I came here for." He hesitated, not wanting to say the words. It was almost as if saying the words made it real. As if he was admitting that he had needed the _services _provided at this… establishment.

It wasn't really that he _needed _them. He just preferred them. He had the guarantee of exclusivity, which was really more than he could say for normal relations. And he had the guarantee of anonymity and discretion in regards to his more personal affairs. Plus, there was no expectation of gifts, or propositions of marriage, or confessions of personal matters or inner emotions. And he could end it, no hard feelings, no worrying about whether Ezekiel would go to the press with the dirty details of their intimacy. If Ezekiel wanted to continue to live the life he currently had— servicing high end clients— he had better keep his mouth shut.

"Yes?" she asked, leadingly, though Lucius had seen a telltale twitch in her mouth that meant she knew what he was going to say. Fake she may be, but she wouldn't have made such a name for herself being stupid.

"I'm afraid I will no longer need your services."

Madame Eve gasped, a little too harsh sounding to be real. "Oh, surely not. Is there something that displeases you? Has something happened?!"

"No, Madame. Everything was fine."

"What was wrong? You can tell me."

"Absolutely nothing."

"Oh, then _why _are you leaving us?"

"The service was sterling, Madame. I am afraid that something has come up."

"What is it? I'm sure there's something we could find to make it better," she screwed up her face in a horrible imitation of a pout.

"I'm afraid it is not something that can be amended."

"Oh!" she screeched, "But it can't be that bad, surely?!"

"I repeat: nothing was wrong, Madame Eve. I am merely not in need of your services any longer."

"Oh, but Ezekiel is such a good boy. He'll certainly miss you dearly."

"I am sure." And he was. The young man was being paid for his exclusivity, after all. And though Lucius had more time on his hands than most, he still didn't dominate the young man's time, not by a long shot. So Ezekiel was being paid, most of the time, to lie about. But Lucius would not abide by anything but exclusivity, especially in a place such as this. And he could afford to ensure such a reassurance. Lucius was sure both Ezekiel and Madame Eve would sorely miss his custom.

"Oh, you've found something else, then?" she asked, apparently very curious.

"I merely have found that I do not require this type of assistance any longer."

Madame Eve smiled, knowing when not to push her luck. Lucius could tell by the look on her face that, though she was resentful, she wanted to keep her options open should his '_alternative'_ fail. He, on the other hand, was sure that it would not. Eventually.

"I will pay out the rest of the week, but after today, Ezekiel is free to be with whomever he chooses."

"You're quite generous, sir," she crooned admiringly, though it was already almost the end of the week.

Lucius said nothing.

"Will you be wanting to see the boy today?"

"That is not necessary."

"Not even to say goodbye? He'll miss you, for sure."

Lucius really did not have any desire to partake in what Madame Eve was suggesting, and he normally would have said no straight away. In fact, his first instinct was to say 'no,' firmly and coldly. But the way that she had said it: to say goodbye, made it seem a little more appealing. He was not so cold hearted as to discontinue three years of relations without the courtesy of a goodbye, paid though the relations may be.

"Very well."

"Excellent," Madame Eve looked relieved. She thought that he was going to have Ezekiel one last time. And that meant, to her at least, that he was not as serious about his '_alternative' _as he professed. And when it failed, she probably thought that he would come running back to Ezekiel.

Madame Eve led Lucius up the stairs and down the hall to the room at the very end of the hall. It was the biggest room, and the room that only Ezekiel used. The room itself was furnished as tastefully as the entrance. The walls were half-hardwood and half blue. The king bed dominated the room, its hangings a plush, navy blue. When Madame Eve pushed open the door, Ezekiel was standing confidently by the bed posts, wearing stylish green robes.

Lucius's first thought was, _That would look better on Harry. _

Ezekiel himself was a very handsome young man, in his early to mid twenties. He was about a medium height, and lithely muscled. He had dark hair, lightly tanned skin, and dark blue eyes. All in all, he was quite attractive, and vaguely reminiscent of Harry. Lucius just supposed he preferred younger brunettes.

"I'll leave you two alone."

As soon as Madame Eve left, Ezekiel turned to the liquor cabinet. Lucius usually preferred to sit and relax for a little before they started their sessions. This time, Lucius decided that while he wouldn't want to string the young man along, he also didn't want to be too abrupt with his farewell.

"What would you like to drink?"

"A port, if you would," he replied. It was a little too early for hard liquor after all.

Ezekiel handed him his glass of wine, and had water for himself.

"Lovely weather we're having," Ezekiel commented. He knew enough not to ask anything remotely personal of Lucius. He had definitely become the master of small talk.

"Yes. They say it will stay clear for the next week, if you can believe it."

"I certainly hope so. I was hoping to go shopping for new robes soon."

"That would be nice."

"Yes, I hear that Twilfit and Tatting's is going to be getting a new shipment of cashmeres and silks soon."

"Hm," Lucius said noncommittally. He wasn't really paying attention to the conversation. But there was nothing for it. There was nothing he could say that would lead-in to what he wanted to tell the young man. He decided to be frank.

"I'm afraid I won't be in need of your services any longer."

Ezekiel, who had been mid-rant about the warmth of cashmere versus silk, stopped abruptly and gaped at him.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm afraid something has come up and I won't be needing your services any longer."

Ezekiel stayed quiet and gaping for a while. He took a couple of deep breaths, and Lucius wasn't sure if the young man was going to cry or not. "Was it something I did?"

Lucius was certainly glad that he was taking it a lot better than Madame Eve had.

"No. Everything was perfectly fine. You did an exceptional job. I will be sorry to not have you. I am merely anticipating something that will prevent me from coming here."

"Oh," Ezekiel knew better than to ask 'are you sure?' He had also known Lucius long enough to know that being anything but composed would not be acceptable.

"I'll miss you," Ezekiel finally said, his eyes glassy. Whether it was because he truly mourned the loss of relations between the two of them, or anticipated what his life would become like, Lucius didn't know.

Lucius said nothing.

"Would you like one last time?" Ezekiel asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. I just wanted to let you know in person," Lucius replied. After a pause, in which he figured that talking business wouldn't be remiss, he continued, "I'll finish paying for the end of the week, but you may see whomever you wish starting with today."

Ezekiel nodded his head and swallowed thickly. Lucius stood, and then so did Ezekiel.

Feeling compassion, Lucius lifted the dark haired wizard by the chin and assured him, "You are very attractive, intelligent, and you are good at what you do. I was very satisfied with the services I received. I am sure you will have no troubles in the future."

Ezekiel spared a small watery smile for him, looking up at Lucius through his fringe. It was such an expression so like something he thought Harry would do, that it twisted his heart.

So Lucius found himself doing another thing that he wouldn't normally do. He reached into his money bag and gave the boy a tip. He pulled out 100 galleons.

"Here. Now you can buy yourself the cashmere _and _the silk robes," he said.

Ezekiel looked up at him in awe. He understood how completely out of character it was for Lucius to have given him a gift. He tentatively reached up and gave Lucius a tender kiss. He automatically opened his mouth, and Lucius's body, so used to the routine, stuck his tongue in. It was gentle, but oh so uninspiring. Lucius slowly drew away.

"Thank you," he said, and walked out without a second glance.

* * *

Not quite sure what I think about this chapter, to tell you the truth. There were a lot of things I wanted to convey that I'm not sure really came through. Though I do hope that this answers any questions about Lucius's state of mind. I have gotten a few comments about that.

Basically, I wanted to show that while Lucius isn't the best person still (and he will never be), his intentions are genuine and he is changing (If you like a sadist!Lucius or think that this is unrealistic, too bad. I'm trying too hard to make everything ELSE realistic here, and I think I'm allowed some artistic license. A LOT more of that will be taken soon...heh). And to show more of what his life is like from an inside point of view, and not from the Wizarding world's perspective.

Thanks to all my reviewers, I adore you.

REVIEW, please!


	14. Oublié

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 14: Oublié

It worked out well that his aunt left to go grocery shopping on Fridays. When she was gone, he snuck into the cupboard under the stairs, and took out his trunk. He didn't know how long he would be gone for, or where he would be going so he figured that bringing the entire trunk would be a bad idea. It would only weigh him down. He had an old, battered duffel of Dudley's that he filled with a couple changes of clothes, his invisibility cloak, photo album, the mirror from Sirius (which he realized that he could probably have contacted Sirius with instead of writing him a letter), and his toiletries. He would have liked to have brought his Firebolt, but without being able to shrink it, it was too big and conspicuous to bring. He only hoped that when he was gone, the Dursleys didn't do anything to his trunk.

That done, he hid his bag in his room, and told both Hedwig and Lazarus that he was going to be gone for an indeterminate amount of time. He briefly considered letting Erastes know that he was going to be gone, but figured his owl could reach him wherever he went, and he could tell him later. He wrote a short note saying that he had gone somewhere to get training, that he didn't know where he was going, but that he was safe, and left it on his desk. Then, he went about his day like normal. It gave him something to do besides sit and be anxious about his trip.

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Harry dressed in warm clothes and said the phrase Prophyta had told him.

"Under the clouds and over the brambles."

Harry felt a pulling sensation, but from his entire body, like it was being sucked down a vacuum, and not from behind his navel like a portkey. Wind whooshed past his ears for a full five minutes before it stopped abruptly. There was no landing, no falling or anything. He was just standing like he had been before. It was Harry's first graceful landing in magical transportation. He decided it was his favorite so far.

He had landed in a clearing near a cave. He could tell by the brightness of the numerous stars— there were so many that it almost looked as though the sky was sprayed with a fine mist— that he was not near any large city. He could see the twinkling lights of a town nearby. There were low bushes all around and scattered trees dotted the area. The forest he was in wasn't as lush as the forests in Britain, and consisted of more low brush than he was used to, but he liked them just the same.

He heard talking to his left, and noticed bonfires burning brightly. He headed in that direction. The sight that greeted him was decidedly lively. There were women and men in tunics and skirts (he was sure the men would have referred to them as _two piece robes_) mingling, talking, and laughing. Some of them were painting each other's eyes and lips black. Others were fastening feathers and leaves to cover the lower half of their faces. They all wore thick golden cuffs like Prophyta had. Cats wove in between their legs. Farther out, Harry could see green skinned creatures talking to creatures with skin that was jet black. A tree at the right edge of the clearing moved, and Harry noticed with a start that it wasn't a tree, but was in fact a giant. Nobody seemed to have noticed him. He moved in closer.

"_¿__Qué es esto?"__ (1)_

"_Ah,¿Qué tenemos aquí?"_

"_¿Cómo se llama?"_

All eyes in the clearing seemed to snap to him at once. It sounded like they were speaking Spanish to him. He had no clue what they were saying. He had hoped that Prophyta would be there to meet him, or that she was at least there, but it didn't seem that she had come at all. He was starting to get scared.

"_¡Ai! ¡Mira su frente! ¡Que tiene la marca!"_

Someone pointed at him, and they all leaned in to take a closer look. He noticed all their eyes flick to his forehead, as they had done in the Wizarding world. It seemed he was well known here, too. He wished he knew what they were saying.

"_¿La Marca?"_

"_Sí, sí, sí ¡Mira!"_

"_¿Cuál marca?"_

"_La Marca de Maju ¡Idiota!"_

"_¿De Sugaar?"_

Sugaar! He knew that!

"_Vete a por Prophyta. __Apúrate, ya."_

He recognized the name Prophyta, though it sounded more like 'Profeeta' than anything else. He assumed, or hoped, that someone had gone to get Prophyta. One woman stepped up with a smile on her face.

"_Bienvenidos," s_he said, loudly and slowly, as if it would help.

"Er, hello." He said, correctly assuming that she had greeted him.

She stepped forward and swept her arm out, bidding him to get closer to the fire. He took a few tentative steps towards the fire.

"_Me llamo Viola. Viola." _She pointed at herself. Ah, names.

"I'm Harry. Harry."

"_¿Jarri?" _The name sounded funny on her tongue, the 'H' heavy and throaty. It almost sounded like she was going to hock up a loogie.

"Yes._ Sí_." Yay for Spanish.

Just then Prophyta came into view.

"_Que no habla español. __¿No hay nadie que sabe el hechizo para trasladar? __¡Por Dios!" _she grumbled to herself. Then she turned to Harry and smiled sunnily, "Hi, Harry. I'm going to put a translation spell on you. But it would behoove you to learn Spanish for real while you're here. A spell can only do so much."

"Oh, alright."

She raised her wand and muttered a spell. He didn't feel any different.

"Did it work?"

"Yes."

"What is this? What am I doing here?"

"This is an _Akelarre (__2)__, _a meeting of witches, Harry. Those caves over there are the _Akellarenlezea, _the _akelarre _caves. We are just outside the town of Zugarramurdi, in Spain. You are here, because we are performing a ritual. Mari and Sugaar come to these caves to engender the storms, and it is the perfect time to perform rituals. They are so close, and their power is churning so much, that it pours and floods the entire area."

"Oh, uh, that's nice." He was so overwhelmed he had no clue what to say.

"We still have a bit of time before we're going to start, so I'll introduce you to some people. Aitor, come here! Harry, this is Aitor, he's an _iratxo, _an imp."

The man was one of the beings that had a pure black colored skin. Aitor wore his dark skin well. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to have jet black skin. Harry supposed that for him, it was. Aitor had glossy, jet black hair that came down to his shoulder blades. His eyes were a deep, fathomless black, with no sclera. Just pure, pure black. He smiled. Harry's eyes were drawn to his double rows of sharp, pointy teeth, one row behind the other, like a shark's. Harry smiled back tentatively. Before he could strike up a conversation, Prophyta pulled him towards another group. He ended up meeting what felt like everyone there. He met _sorginak, _or male and female witches, _jentilak, _or giants, _lamiak, _which were female nymphs, a _mairu, _which was the male nymph (the nymphs were the ones with deep green skin), and even one _tartalo, _a Cyclops. He also met two things he had never even seen or heard of before. A _basajun, _which was a sort of stout, hairy wild man. They had long, red hair on their heads, and their entire bodies were covered with varying amounts of hair. They seemed very… natural. And he also met a _gaueko, _a sort of great, black wolfhound that was able to walk on two legs. It was covered in gold jewelry, and commanded a lot of respect from all creatures present. They all referred to him as Lord Gaueko, and bowed whenever he passed.

Finally, an old man in pure white robes stepped into the clearing. He had white hair and completely white eyes. As soon as they saw him, every creature in the clearing quieted immediately.

"_Aztio." _They greeted him as one.

He raised his arms above his head. "It is time. Come."

Only then did Harry realize that the wind had been picking up, and the sky had been gathering clouds. It was hard to tell because it was night time, but Harry could tell because the stars weren't visible in some places. The _aztio _led them to another, larger clearing. This one had a wooden platform in the middle. The platform had a table with some implements on it, a fire burning in a pit on one side, and a tub full of water on the other. All the creatures gathered in a circle around the platform in order of height. First the imps, then the _basajun, _humans, the nymphs, the _gaueko,_ and then the Cyclops and giants.

Prophyta grabbed Harry's arm and led him to the base of the platform.

"What have we?"

Harry had the feeling that the _aztio _already knew why he was here, and that the ritual had begun the moment he had stepped into the larger clearing.

"A ritual. The avatar of Sugaar has come into his powers. He must learn control. He must be

grounded."

There was that word again. _Avatar_. He remembered hearing it when Prophyta had come to his room earlier in the week, but didn't remember the word afterwards, and so couldn't look it up. He would have to ask exactly what that meant, later.

"It has been foreseen."

Prophyta pushed him onto the platform, and remained where she was at the foot of it. "Just do what he says, okay? Don't question it."

"I see. The avatar of Maju. You will be known as Sugoitxo. _Little Sugoi._"

Harry merely stood there. Was he supposed to say something? He hoped not. It didn't seem like they were expecting a response.

"Sugoitxo. Disrobe yourself."

Harry balked. _What? In front of all these people? _He turned and looked at Prophyta, who looked at him with a sheepish expression on her face. She raised her hands and made a shooing motion. The soothsayer was watching him impatiently. He looked around at the beings surrounding him. None of them seemed surprised. In fact, he hadn't thought it odd before, but the nymphs and giants were hardly wearing any clothes at all. The _basajun _and the _gaueko _weren't wearing any clothes at all. He steeled himself and began taking off his clothes.

When he was done, the _aztio _took hold of his right arm and examined it in the firelight. He seemed to come to a conclusion, and lifted it high above their heads.

"It is approved. The mark of the _Lauburu_ of Sugaar. It is approved."

A flash of lightening blazed, followed by a clap of thunder. Nobody jumped or even moved except Harry.

"We must perform the cleansing ritual first," the soothsayer said, probably for Harry's benefit. He walked over to the tub of water and pulled out a large bowl filled with water. He brought it over to Harry and poured it over his head. The water was cold, and the night air was cold, too. There was a strong breeze blowing, that played with the fire's flames and made it flicker, but Harry was not cold. He felt the coolness of the night air, of the breeze, and of the water, but he didn't feel the chill. Harry looked around at the people and creatures watching him. All were deathly quiet, and it was more than a little creepy looking into the sea of green, brown, black, and hairy faces, some painted, some covered with feathers and leaves, but all were silently staring at him.

A light rain began to fall, starting out as a heavy mist, and it quickly got heavier and heavier. It fell on Harry and all the creatures around him, but did not fall into the fire. The water that fell into the tub of water was collected. He assumed that was the only source of their water for that particular tub. Ritual water. The _aztio _walked back and forth from the tub to Harry, pouring the water over his head numerous times, as well as over his shoulders, chest, back, and to Harry's chagrin, his genitals.

Finally, the soothsayer held out his hand to Harry. He led him to the tub of water. He pointed to the tub, indicating that Harry should get in. Was that just a pre-cleansing cleansing? How clean did he need to be?

The soothsayer spoke loudly, his voice chanting in a language that the translation spell didn't understand.

"_Ez geala, be geala_

_Hamalau mila hemen geala_" (3)

His reedy voice was soon joined by those watching them. They chanted the words over and over again.

"_Ez geala, be geala_

_Hamalau mila hemen geala_

_Ez geala, be geala_

_Hamalau mila hemen geala_

_Ez geala, be geala_

_Hamalau mila hemen geala_"

As they chanted, the soothsayer picked up the bowl again, and poured water over Harry's head. He poured out the water in a slow, measured manner, and allowed the water to flow in cold rivulets down Harry's lithe body and back into the tub. The rain continued to pour over them all. It fell in huge, heavy droplets that fell like miniature punches everywhere. A burst of lightening flashed across the sky, lighting the entire clearing.

"_Ez geala, be geala_

_Hamalau mila hemen __geala_

_Ez geala, be geala_

_Hamalau mila hemen geala_"

The _aztio _stopped pouring water and stopped chanting, but the crowd continued. If Harry had thought that the eerie silence was creepy, this was even creepier. The soothsayer walked away towards the fire. Since he hadn't put out a hand or said anything otherwise, Harry stayed where he was. The soothsayer picked up a thick branch covered in cloth. A torch. Uh oh. Harry watched the old man put the torch into the fire, and eyed him apprehensively as he returned to Harry. The soothsayer stopped a few feet away, the torch burning merrily in his hand, unfazed by the heavy rain. He thrust the torch at Harry, stopping a hand's length away from his torso, which was close enough, thankyouverymuch. He took a few steps to the left, and repeated the action. The audience continued their chanting, quietly.

Harry could feel the power building. He now knew what Prophyta had meant when she said that the power poured down from the caves. It flowed in the air, warm and suffocating at the same time. It caressed Harry, making goose bumps appear on his exposed skin, and raising the light dusting of hairs on his body. He thought maybe this was what it felt like to be about to be struck by lightening. Wait, _what? _Oh, no.

Harry watched the old soothsayer repeat the step and thrust action again and again the entire way around the tub, and when he got back to the beginning, he started all over again, stepping in the opposite direction. His heart was in his throat the entire time. Wouldn't being struck by lightening be the perfect ending to a ritual?

"Sugaar, Maju, Sugoi, we implore you to come down and aid your man. We ask you to assist him in his growth. We will ground him. Sugaar, Maju, Sugoi, we ask you to come help your avatar."

Harry braced himself, sure that he was going to get struck by lightening. After a minute nothing happened. Then, a loud screeching roar came from above. It sounded high and low pitched at the same time, like a lion's roar mixed with a banshee's wail. It was deafening. It was so loud it hurt, and the ground rumbled with the sound of it. Harry cringed and ducked. He heard shouts from all around. The assembled creatures were all looking into the sky, and some were pointing. He looked up and saw a dark shape against the sky. It was hard to see with the rain and clouds. The screeching roar came again, and the shape dove and rose twice.

He heard calls of _"Herensuge!" _

Harry finally got a good look at the shape. It was a dragon! It roared and breathed fire into the air. Harry could feel the heat even from where he stood. The intense heat of the fire evaporated rain drops from mid air. Harry stood straight. Wow. That was more intense than the Tri Wizard Tournament, because he knew that there were not keepers standing off to the side, waiting with their wands and chains ready.

The _aztio _plunged the torch into the tub of water next to Harry to put it out. It hissed and steam rose from the tub. Tendrils of steam curled around his body in lazy waves. Harry relaxed.

The ritual was over.

_**BAM!!**_

A flash of light surrounded him. He had just gotten struck by lightening.

Harry felt a spasm of sharp pain all through his body. The energy from the lightening was wracking his body with spasms, tightening all his muscles until they cramped. His body tensed and shook. His jaw was clenched, and his lips pulled taughtly over his teeth. Without his control, saliva dribbled down his chin. He literally could feel the energy running through his brain, firing neurons and signaling synapses and activating the deepest crevasses of his brain. He could almost feel things changing in his mind. Unable to keep his balance, his stiff, shuddering body fell forward. The soothsayer caught him before he could hurt himself on the edge of the tub, not that he knew that. He was too caught up in the residual energy running through his body. The lightening itself had only lasted for a couple seconds— much, much longer than normal— and what felt like an infinite amount of time when he was experiencing it. But besides the initial shock of pain, and the resulting pain of body cramps in what felt like every muscle he had, he hadn't felt that much hurting, considering he had just been struck by lightening. Slowly, his body relaxed. He could still feel the buzzing of something working overtime in his brain, but luckily he was able to pay it no mind as he fell into a blissful darkness.

ooooooooooooooooo

"Sugoitxo, Sugoitxo. There you are."

Harry opened his eyes to find a man standing in front of him. Harry found that he was already standing, which was weird. Who woke up to find themselves standing? The man looked completely human save for his eyes that were completely black, with no whites. Oh, and he was glowing. He had tan skin, and dark brown, almost black hair that fell to his hips. He was built and very attractive. Harry could tell, very distinctly, too, as the man was only wearing a loincloth and a cloak. Oh, and an oddly familiar huge ass gold necklace that hung low and rested on the man's six pack.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

"Sugaar."

"Yes."

"Where are we?"

The man ignored his question, and said instead, "I have given you some of my powers, but not all. You are a mortal, after all. You must learn yourself what you limits are. You should be able to restore the balance to the Wizarding world and prevent The Other from seizing power, with just those powers, and no more."

"What do you mean, 'prevent The Other from seizing power?'"

"There is a sinister power taking advantage of the instability in the Wizarding World. Its dark hand is already taking hold over your world. It must be stopped."

"What do you mean? How do we stop it? What's it doing?"

Maju ignored his question, and said instead, "You will receive certain powers: the ability to call storms, the ability to speak with and command serpents and dragons, and a limited control of _magia nahia: _will magic."

Harry decided that it was best to go with the flow of the conversation, though he distinctly wished that Sugaar had answered his questions. "Will magic?"

"The ability to cause an occurrence simply through a strong desire. No wand, no incantation."

"Wandless wordless magic? That's crazy."

Sugaar looked amused. "Indeed. Which is why there will be a limit to how much you can do. You will have to have nothing but the strongest desire for something to happen, and it will drain you greatly. But only with experience will you know how much magic you can do. There is no quantitative amount of magic that you will be able to do. It is up to your judgment only."

Harry remembered he had a question from before the ritual. "What is an avatar? I mean, are we related, or am I you reincarnated?"

Sugoi pursed his lips, as if he had not expected that question and wasn't too keen on answering it. "An avatar is the manifestation of a deity on earth. You are a manifestation of me, basically. You have been chosen by the fates and me, to carry out a task that we cannot, by working on earth. As a human, you are able to affect the world more than I could, as I have no physical form and therefore can't influence the world directly. I gave you some of my powers in order to help you in your quest. Otherwise, it would be a nearly impossible task for a mere mortal. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded silently, not wanting to further displease the god.

"As for your other questions, you are my avatar. Therefore, we do not need to be directly related in any sense. We are not related by blood, though your many-times great-grandmother had a child with me, and thus was marked by me. That is the extent of our relation. Also, you are not the reincarnation of me, as I otherwise could not be here talking to you."

As he spoke, a thick gray mist filled the air, cutting off the air and light. At first Harry had paid it no mind, but it was starting to make it hard to breathe. It quickly filled the air around him. After a few seconds, his view of the deity was obscured, and a little after that, it was so thick he could hardly see his hand a foot or two in front of his face.

"What—"

"It's time for you to wake up, Sugoitxo."

The dark mist covered him completely, suffocating him in a dark, airless void.

* * *

(1) The spanish is as follows, if you want to read it. It's not TOO important.

"What is this?"  
"What have we here?"  
"What's your name?"  
"Ah! Look at his forehead! He has the mark!"  
"The mark?"  
"Yes, yes, look!"  
"Which mark?"  
"Maju's mark, idiot!"  
"Sugaar's?"  
"Go get Prophyta. Hurry up, already!"  
"Welcome."  
"My name is Viola."  
"He doesn't speak spanish. There's nobody that knows the translation spell? By God!"

(2) All this information is real, besides the fact that the creatures come to the akelarre (in real life they can't because they don't exist, hahah), parts of the Lord Gaueko thing, the soothsayer running the _akellare_, and I made up the ritual itself.

Also, -_ak _is how you make plurals in Euskera. Keep that in mind, otherwise some words may seem like different terms, when in fact they're just plurals.

(3) This is a real chant really used at _akellare_. Means "We are, we aren't indeed, fourteen thousand we are here." No clue what THAT's supposed to mean… The incantation Harry used to get to Spain is real, too.

Sorry if this is a little late. I'm afraid that updates starting next week will be a little sporadic as I am preparing on moving to China for an internship.

OH, and sorry if you really hate OCs, because this is going to be going on for a while. I just personally love OCs, if done well, so I didn't even think twice in creating them. Please don't hate me! It's all important, I swear!

Review, please!


	15. Je me fous du passé!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

AN: Sorry for the delay. Writing is going a lot slower now that I actually have things to do, lol. But this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual, so enjoy!

* * *

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 15: Je me fous du passé!

Harry came awake with a gasp. He was in a small room with white stucco walls and a dark wooden ceiling. For a disoriented couple of seconds, he couldn't recall where he was or how he had gotten there. Sun streamed in from a window to his left, highlighting little dust motes as they floated through the air. It was quite warm, probably over 30 degrees Celsius (1). The room itself was quite bare. It held only a Spartan wooden chair, the bed he laid on, a small side table, and an old wooden armoire.

"I thought you would wake soon."

He turned his head to find Prophyta opening the door with a tray of something in her hands. He wondered how long he had been out.

"You've been sleeping for three days."

_Three days?_ That was a long time. He didn't feel like he had been out that long. He looked around, wondering where he was.

"You are in the town of Zugarramurdi, in my house."

Was she reading his mind? How did she know what he had been thinking? Harry was confused.

"No, I'm not reading your mind." She looked amused.

Then how…?

"Your face is very expressive." She said with a smile, and set down the tray on the bedside table. "How do you feel?"

"Good." His voice was hoarse and dry.

"You should be. You've slept for three days. Your body was unharmed by the bolt of lightening, but your mind needed time to catch up. Are you hungry?"

Harry cleared his throat, "Starving."

"I have brought you some soup. I hope you like tomato soup." She gestured to the bowl and slices of bread, "This is gazpacho. It's a cold soup. Good for days like this. You should be fine physically, just maybe a little sore from being in bed for so long. When you're done with the soup, come downstairs."

With that, she stood, ruffled his hair, and left him to his soup and bread. The soup was pretty much like cold tomato soup, but with some extra spices in it. It wasn't bad, though it wasn't his favorite. The bread was great, though. It tasted homemade. When he was done, he got out of bed, and realized, embarrassedly that he wasn't wearing pants. Someone had taken them off of him. They lay draped across a chair next to his bed. He donned them, gathered the tray, and went downstairs.

Prophyta was waiting for him in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. When she saw him, she stopped what she was doing.

"Sit. Now that you've eaten, I'm sure you have some questions."

Harry nodded. He had so many he couldn't even begin to think of what they were.

"Before you begin, I'm sorry for not explaining things to you better. It had to be that way. You had to find things out on your own, in your own time."

"It's alright. I just hate not knowing what's going on, you know? I feel like no one ever tells me what's going on, but they all expect me to save them."

"I understand."

Her eyes drifted to where the _Lauburu _showed on his arm, as he was wearing a short sleeved shirt. Harry tried not to wonder how he had come to be wearing clothes again.

That reminded him, "You said that I got this scar when I became an adult. But we don't become adults till we're seventeen. I'm not even sixteen. And you said my lightening bolt scar is the mark of Sugaar; but I got my scar when Voldemort tried to kill me."

"Ah, I was wondering if you'd remember what I said that night," she chuckled. "You did receive the _Lauburu _when you turned into an adult. _We _do not consider an arbitrary age to be the marking of adulthood. Why 17, why not 18, or even 16? Men become such when they lose their innocence. When they have sex. And so you did." She smirked playfully.

Harry blushed. He had thought that the mark had been connected to having sex for the first time, but hadn't wanted to say anything. He supposed it made sense.

"As for your lightening bolt scar, yes, it was given to you on the night of your parents' deaths, but not in the way you would think, not completely. Lord Voldemort still tried to kill you, and did not succeed, but he was merely the tool for the fates. You were marked long before either of you were born. It was foreseen that one of your line would become the avatar for Sugaar, and you were chosen. The fates arranged for it to happen, and protected you from death. It was the only way to mark you. The will of the fates is unclear. Maybe if they hadn't interfered, none of that night would have happened, but we will never know."

Harry was shocked and quite sad. He had always felt that there was something meddling in his life, and he was right. If it wasn't for those _damn fates, _he might be a normal boy, with two parents, and not famous at all. Indeed, could he even blame Lord Voldemort for his parents' deaths, as he too was being controlled by the fates? He secretly wondered how much of the animosity between him and the Dark Lord were because of that night. Voldemort wanted revenge for that night, and Harry wanted to kill his parents' murderer. It of course, wasn't as simple as that, but those two reasons were now obsolete.

While he was thinking, Prophyta had made two cups of thick coffee stuff using a strange metal contraption. Harry decided to change the subject to something more neutral.

"Where are we, exactly? I mean, can you tell me about this place?"

"We are in Zugarramurdi. It is a town with only _sorginak, _only witches_, _now. We have hidden ourselves since the seventeenth century, right after the Inquisition came to our town and killed and burned twelve of us (2). We have hidden ourselves with magic so they cannot find us again. You are the first outsider in almost four hundred years."

"The Spanish Inquisition…" Harry breathed. He had forgotten about that. It must have been so much worse here than it had been anywhere else in the world.

"Yes. The Christians came in the fifth century, and we lived peacefully side by side with them until the eleventh century. It was a sad time when they began to persecute us with fervor. They never understood that our gods are as real as theirs."

The conversation had gotten heavy again.

"How long will I stay here?"

"That is up to you. You will stay here as long as you need to stay here. You will learn to control your powers, and spend a few evenings with each species of creature. When you have learned all you need to know, you will leave."

"Learn control? How? Who will teach me?"

"The _sorginak _and the _gaueko _lordwill teach you to control your _magia nahia. _The serpents and the _herensuge _will teach you to control the serpents and dragons. The _basajunak, _the wild men,will teach you to create storms. As such, you will spend each morning with the _sorginak, _and then for lunch, you will eat here. After siesta, you will go to spend the evening with a clan of creatures, to learn about each group and create bonds. That will be how you will pass the time."

"Everyone says that it's my job to restore the balance to the Wizarding world, and defeat some evil, what does that mean?"

Prophyta paused, "You will not like this, but you are not yet ready to know. Just know that you will be told when you are ready. I will tell you this: the balance has been becoming unstable since the Inquisition, and recent history has only made it worse."

"Why me?"

"That, I am not sure anyone knows the answer to. Not even the fates themselves…Now, up. Help me with dinner. _Eki _is going to return to _Ama Lur _soon, and there is much to be done."

ooooooooooooooooo

Zugarramurdi looked like not one thing had changed since the town had gone into hiding in the early 1600s. There was an old wagon and by a well in the center of a plaza in town that looked like it had been set down and left during the Inquisition. The roads were all dirt or cobblestone, and everyone got their water either from the well or an old fashioned hand-pump. The buildings were all made of brown stones, and were covered in white stucco from about chest height up, and had old clay tile roofs. Most homes were modest, one story homes. Prophyta's was one of the few that had two stories, and a balcony. The inhabitants of the town were fully functional independent of the outside world. They had schools, tradesmen, farms, and even a small market, though they bartered because they didn't have money. The town was surrounded by pastures and farmlands, in order to supply food to the inhabitants. The town itself was at the northern end of Spain, very close to the French border, in the mountains. Harry learned that the climate was very different than the better part of Spain, which consisted of dry, hot plains. He was glad for it. Spending most of his time in Scotland had made him very sensitive to heat. Some of the villagers stared and giggled at his pale, white skin.

The ubiquitous windmill, popularized by _Don Quixote, _he learned, was seen as sacred to the population of Zugarramurdi, though they hadn't seen a real one in centuries. There were many little windmills around the entire town, though they didn't seem to do anything except turn in the wind. The windmills were popular in the windy plains of Spain, but weren't practical in a place like Zugarramurdi. Nonetheless, the population of _sorginak _claimed that the wind that turned the windmills were proof enough of Sugaar and his love for them, because he controlled the storms and created wind. And it was the wind that moved the windmills, that ground the grain to provide them with food.

There were a great many fountains in Zugarramurdi. They all were natural fountains, made of cascades of stones, like waterfalls. The locals worshipped fountains, as well as the earth and the air. The fountains were seen as a union of all three: earth, air and water. The movement of the water, for them, symbolized three things. First, the churning of the fates, second, the passage of time, and third, the circle of life.

One thing that Harry noticed right off was that the entire city seemed to be filled with stray cats. When he mentioned this to Prophyta (and the possibility of spaying and neutering them for population control), she laughed for a full five minutes. It turned out that the cats were not cats, but were in fact _sorginak_ that preferred to travel as a cat rather than a human. Evidently it was very enjoyable to be in cat form, as life was vastly simpler, and one could take pleasure in basking in the sun.

The next morning, Prophyta brought him to the local leader of the _sorginak, _Viola and her husband, Garaile, who left after being introduced. Harry would have thought that Prophyta would be the leader, as he had met her first, and was staying at her house, but he didn't ask in case it was a sore subject. Viola had been the first person that had greeted him at the beginning of the _akelarre. _She was a sturdy woman, and he could definitely see how she was the leader of an entire town. She was very no-nonsense and authoritarian woman that didn't care for propriety. When Harry and Prophyta arrived, she opened the door covered in flour, seemingly playing no attention to how proper it was. When she led them into the kitchen, Harry saw that she had been beating a gigantic ball of bread dough into submission.

"Welcome, Harry." She wiped her hand on a rag and shook his hand.

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you."

"It is an honor to be of service."

After a bit of small talk, they got down to the reason Harry was there.

"You became ready to come here when you knew two things. First, you knew of our culture and religion, and second, you had tapped into your powers. Often, the powers come when one's emotions are high. Tell me about how they manifested for you."

Harry hesitated. Could he say that he had almost been raped? Admitting it like that felt so severe, so harsh. Rape, after all, was a very strong word.

"Don't worry. They often show themselves in stressful situations, or when we are pushed to do things we wouldn't normally do."

Harry took a fortifying breath, and told her. He began with a little background of his time at the Dursleys, and continued with a description of Dudley, and the first night that he found Dudley standing over his bed.

"And then Thursday night, I woke up to find him standing over my bed, again. This time he was blatantly touching himself. He accused me of trying to make him gay by tempting him, and of using my magic to make him gay. I told him no, that wasn't the case. I don't really remember what was said, but the next thing I knew he was on top of me. He's so much bigger than I am. I tried to fight him off and I was hitting and kicking him, but he wouldn't get off."

Harry couldn't bring himself to look anywhere but his hands. They were shaking slightly. He tried to remember what he felt right before the lightening blast. "I felt… a warmth running through me. Now that I think back on it, it was apparent that something was about to happen. All of a sudden something burst from me, and I opened my eyes and realized that I had thrown Dudley off and I was discharging lightening. And then I knew I was ready to come here."

There was silence. Harry looked up at Viola and Prophyta to find both their expressions grim, and not a little shocked.

"That's quite impressive for a first time. Especially considering how much force would have been necessary to throw your cousin off, because he weighs so much. How tired were you after?"

"Pretty tired. I fell asleep pretty much right away." Harry felt glad that they didn't seem to dwell on his cousin's actions. It would have made him feel really uncomfortable if they had.

"That's good. Now you pretty much know your limit," said Viola.

Viola set a coffee in front of him. Actually, it was more of a latte than any type of coffee that he was used to. He had already had a coffee with Prophyta this morning. He supposed it was their version of tea. He didn't want any more, but sipped it politely anyway.

"It is important to know your limits with _magia nahia,_" explained Prophyta. "_Magia nahia _is based on the determination to make something happen. It is important that you learn at what point your magic will kick in. You don't want anything happening too soon or too late. Too soon, and your power will drain you, and we won't talk about what happens if it's too late."

"Control isn't something that we can teach you," said Viola, "Neither are limits. I want you to start with something small and not tiring. You're learning two limits: one, how much determination is needed to make something happen, and two, how much magic you can use before you feel drained. It's up to you when you want to stop, and it depends on how tired you feel."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Don't be hasty. It is harder than it sounds. It might help to know that there is the _berezko _and the _aideko: _the natural world, which is the world around us, and the magical world. You have to concentrate and link the two. Bring the _aideko _forward and affect the natural world. It also works vice versa, but we won't go into that."

Harry really had no clue what she was talking about, and so decided to ignore what she had just told him. He'd do it his own way, like he always did. Instead he asked, "What should I do now?"

"Try moving your coffee cup."

Harry didn't know where to begin. He concentrated on moving the cup with his mind. It was so different than wanded magic. With a wand, all he had to do was get the incantation and the wand movement correct. _Magia nahia _seemed to be both easier and harder than wanded magic. It was easier because he wasn't constrained to having to know a spell, or a certain type of action of the spell, but the lack of specificity made it hard to make things happen.

"It's hard to make things work, at first. It's like cutting potatoes; everyone has their own method of doing things," Viola soothed, "I find it helpful to imagine exactly what I want to happen. Then I concentrate with all my might and desire for what I've imagined to happen." She stood, wiping her hands on her apron, "Take your time. Not everyone gets it their first day. Just be patient. It's important to stay calm. We'll be over there."

Viola stood, followed closely by Prophyta. They walked over to the enormous mound of bread dough and split it between the two of them. Harry appreciated the fact that they seemed to be giving him space. It took some of the pressure off knowing that, while they were close enough to help, they weren't hovering over him, watching him every time he failed.

It was very hard to _want _to do something that small. There was no emotion involved. And it wasn't something offensive; he couldn't use it to attack. At least not outright, like a bolt of lightening.

An hour later Harry was very, very frustrated. He felt his eyes prickling with tears of anger and frustration. The cup wasn't even that big! Viola and Prophyta had finished bashing their respective pieces of dough, and had begun making a new batch. They worked together with an ease that belied familiarity. He had heard them joyfully talking, laughing, and gossiping at the counter while he had been working. Harry sighed heavily and scrubbed at his face.

"Sugoitxo. You should take a break. Do not be disappointed," stated Viola, dusting the countertops with flour. "Come, come here. Help us knead the bread. It will help with your frustration."

It turned out that kneading dough really did help with his frustration. It was a lot of work. But it helped Harry because he was able to punch the dough, stretch it, and punch it again, to help ease his anger. After a while it became fun. He was all dirty, covered in dough and flour, and making something that would be soon edible. All the punching and rolling of the dough became almost hypnotizing for him. He cleared his mind, and let his body work on autopilot.

"Sugoitxo. Sugoitxo. _Harry!_" Harry held in a jump at Prophyta's hand on his arm, "I think that bread is ready," she said, looking at his mangled piece of dough with a laughing smile.

"Sorry. I got distracted," Harry blushed.

"It's alright. You can't over mix bread," she replied airily. "Now I think you can go back to your cup."

Harry sat down in front of his damned coffee cup. He certainly felt much calmer than he had before. He took a deep breath, and did what Viola had told him to do. He pictured, very clearly, the image of the coffee cup sliding across the table. Then, he desired for the cup to move. He was determined, damnit!

Nothing happened.

He felt a prickling of frustration. He had thought beating that dough had helped. He calmed himself down by remembering what it felt like to knead the dough. And then he _commanded _the cup to slide across the tabletop.

The cup moved!

Shocked, Harry looked up at the two women to see if they had interfered.

They were facing away from him, each shaping balls of dough into baguettes.

"Ha ha! I did it!" he laughed, still a little shocked.

The two women turned around and smiled at him.

"I knew you could do it. And so quick, too!"

"Oh, good job, Sugoitxo!"

"Well, let's see it. Can you do it again?"

In response, Harry imagined the cup sliding back to its starting position, felt the desire for the cup to move well within him, and _commanded_ the cup to move again. It did.

Harry smiled at them. Prophyta clapped twice and beamed back. Viola looked proud, and not a little smug.

"How do you feel?"

"Not too bad. I can see how doing this a lot would make me tired. But I don't feel nearly as tired as I did when I threw Dudley off."

"Good. Excellent job. Now, try to do something else, something that takes more power. Don't exhaust yourself though. You still have things to do today."

Harry thought of what he could do. He decided to levitate his cup. It wasn't much harder or more tiring that moving the cup had been. Then, he levitated the cup and made it dance around Prophyta and Viola. After a while, he ended up levitating the cup up to his lips, and tilting it so he could take a drink, though the coffee was cold by now and he didn't especially like it in the first place. But it was great! He didn't know of any spell that could levitate and tip and object. Or he hadn't learned one or seen one in his five years in the Wizarding world. (The hard part about schooling in the Wizarding world was that he was actually expected to remember each and every spell he learned, which was quite hard). Anyway, he was quite proud.

It was quite a bit passed one o'clock, and Harry had been wondering when they were going to eat lunch, when Viola called everything to a stop. She commanded Harry to slice some fresh bread, Prophyta to prepare a salad and pour the Gazpacho, while she cooked some chicken and cut a weird potato egg thing_. _Garaile, who had been gone all day, came back.

It turned out that lunch in Spain was a big deal. The whole country shut down for a few hours, and gathered with their families to eat— not lunch, but _Lunch. _It consisted of five or six dishes. They had salad, soup, bread, chicken, the weird egg potato thing, which was called a _tortilla española_, and sliced fruit for dessert. Harry thought that he wished he could tell Erastes that his favorite food was _tortilla española, _which, though it wasn't haute cuisine, was at least not British and so a little better than liking treacle tart. It made him feel more experienced being able to say that his favorite dish was Spanish.

"It's important that you know how to do small things, Sugoitxo. If you use your brain, and act smartly, you can do so much more in a situation," said Prophyta, putting salt, vinegar and oil on her salad. "You don't have to drain yourself to get the same thing done. For example, levitating an object to hit someone over the head is much less tiring than blasting them away with lightening."

Though she had used his own actions as the 'bad' example, her tone wasn't accusative. It was nice to not be reprimanded for acting rashly, for once. But he could see her point. He had levitated his cup multiple times today, and didn't really feel that tired, but after blasting off Dudley, he had nearly passed out.

"And, Sugoitxo," she stopped eating temporarily to look him directly in the eye, "I watched you for a bit when I was in England. I know how independent you are. This may be hard for you, but only you know when enough is enough. Part of being an adult is knowing when to stop, even if you haven't yet accomplished anything. You did well today, but don't push yourself too hard. Don't strain yourself beyond exhaustion because of your pride."

Harry felt a little burning in his stomach at being called 'prideful' and 'independent.' He never did take criticism well. He supposed it was because he had always gotten so much of it at home, and it was usually so extreme, that he had a negative reaction to hearing criticism. He didn't think he was prideful at all. In fact, he had a relatively low self-esteem. But he did appreciate the fact that she had been gentle, and not reproachful. And he understood what she meant; sometimes he did have trouble knowing when to stop.

"So, in future lessons, you're going to start to do things that need more and more magic. You'll learn your limits, with both big and small acts of magic. You'll need to learn to control your emotions. It takes a deep understanding of your mind and your emotions. If you've ever heard of Occlumency—" Harry inwardly cringed at this, "—you'll find that knowledge of one makes the other easier. They are related.

"After a time, you'll also be working with Lord Gaueko. Controlling your emotions can help you affect the weather, which you'll work on with the _basajunak_."

After lunch, Harry went with Prophyta back to her house to rest for an evening with the _lamiak _and _mairu,_ the nymphs. While they waited for it to be time for Harry to go, Prophyta took of the translation charm, and taught him Spanish. It was actually very easy, as he had already heard the words before. It was just that without the translation spell, he didn't know the meaning.

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(1) About 86 degrees Fahrenheit. So quite warm, especially for someone like Harry, but not deathly hot.

(2) Okay I just wanted to note that I made up quite a bit of facts concerning Zugarramurdi for this fic. I am saying this because I usually say "This is true," and I wanted to make sure that while some facts in this chapter may be true, I definitely used some artistic license to fill in the gaps. Some of the small details are true, though. Like that whole lunch thing, the food they eat, and, as always, the terms in _Euskera_.

Again, updates might be a little sporadic, with the whole "moving to China" thing, but if you review more, I'll be more inclined to write! (hint, hint)

Review, please!


	16. Avec me souvenirs

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

AN: SORRY SO SORRY. More at bottom.

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 16: Avec me souvenirs

_Last chapter: After lunch, Harry went with Prophyta back to her house to rest for an evening with the __lamiak and __mairu, the nymphs. While they waited for it to be time for Harry to go, Prophyta took of the translation charm, and taught him Spanish. It was actually very easy, as he had already heard the words before. It was just that without the translation spell, he didn't know the meaning._

There was a small stream about a kilometer outside of Zugarramurdi which housed the _lamiak _and _mairu _(the only male nymph). They were beautiful, pale, androgynous creatures, all with long flowing hair and rich, green skin. The thing that surprised Harry the most was the flash of their bird-like feet he saw as they lifted up their skirts to climb into the water. The _lamiak _as a whole were friendly creatures. They sang songs together, played in the water, and combed their hair with golden combs. All in all, it was a boring night for Harry. Pleasant, but boring. The only interesting thing that he learned, and as it was it was the next night that he learned it, was that they worshipped water, and therefore had a nominal control over it. They were able to call it, make the stream grow, or make it trickle to a stop, or make the water churn violently. It was a gift that came with being a nymph, and so wasn't something that they could teach Harry.

ooooooooooooooo

Harry quickly integrated himself into the Zugarramurdian life. His training at the Dursleys served him well in that respect. And instead of being a burden, like some residents of Zugarramurdi might have thought, he quickly became an asset. He helped Prophyta, and the quickly established a routine that, though filled with chores and learning, was also filled with laughter. The _sorginak _promptly learned how good it was to have him around. He carried water from the wells and pumps to their houses, fed their chickens, collected eggs, and helped in the kitchen. But most importantly of all, at least to the laid-back Spaniards, he always took time to pet them when they were in cat form. All in all, though they were hard workers, life in Zugarramurdi was much slower paced than he was used to. It was refreshing.

So that was the way his days went. He breakfasted with Prophyta, studied magic with Viola and the _aztio, _Kemen, though soon he would begin lessons with the Lord Gaueko. Then they would stop for lunch, afterwards Prophyta would teach him Spanish, and then he would go meet with creatures. He had to meet with the leader of each group in order to learn about different cultures and species, and make him more tolerant and understanding of creatures. Seeing the creatures as individuals was supposed to help him with restoring the balance in the Wizarding world. And, he was told, it would help loads later, if they resurrected the Council of Magical Creatures, if he already had an understanding of many species of creatures. After he got used to the schedule, they told him that he would need to meet with the _Herensuge _and the serpents, as well as the _basajunak _and _basandereak_.

Harry often thought of Erastes, and what he might say were Harry to tell him about his life in the Spanish town. He wished that he could write him, and tell him what was going on. Especially now that he felt like he was finally getting experiences that would bring him up to Erastes's level— he was learning a new language, he had left the country, he was meeting and befriending new creatures, and learning obscure magics. He wished he could take that last letter he had written and take it back and rewrite it with his new experiences. It would have certainly made him sound more adult.

He occasionally found himself composing letters to Erastes in his head, when he found a moment when his hands were occupied but his head wasn't. He wished he could tell the man what he was doing and what was happening to him. But he wasn't sure if he was allowed to tell people where he was. Zugarramurdians valued their privacy intensely, and he didn't think they'd appreciate him telling people about the existence of the town.

He thought occasionally of Lucius, but on the whole, he was too busy to think sexual thoughts. His new life was so different than he was used to, and so full of things to do and to learn, that he hardly even noticed. Once or twice he woke up from an erotic dream with a hard-on, but he didn't feel comfortable enough at Prophyta's to take care of it.

He also found himself wondering how the Wizarding world was doing without him. Had they even noticed him missing? He usually didn't have any contact with the Wizarding world, outside of the occasional letter, over the summers. But his birthday was coming up, and he was also due to go to the Weasley's sometime soon, and they would surely figure out his disappearing act then. He wasn't sure if owls could find him where he was. Zugarramurdi was buried so well in concealing magic that he had no clue if there was a ruckus in the outside world at all. He wouldn't know the truth for almost another three weeks.

oooooooooooooooo

Harry's birthday was exactly a week after he arrived. As it was a Friday, the locals celebrated before the _akelarre. _Now that he had met more of the residents of the town instead of being introduced in passing, it was much more enjoyable. He had also met with a few of the creatures, though he had only had time to stay with the nymphs. The Zugarramurdians respected him, and were even maybe a little in awe of him, but their small-town mentality kept that from making him feel awkward. They knew that he was the avatar for a god, but at the same time they has all seen him carrying water through the town, or bartering with eggs and bread at the market. It helped humanize him.

The celebration turned out to be sort of a pot-luck. Everyone brought their specialty, even the creatures, and everyone sat around and enjoyed the food. There were even bottles of wine and mead. Though he wasn't technically of legal drinking age, no one seemed to care, especially not in Spain, so he was able to try a little of both. He didn't actually really like either, anyway. The wine was dry and strongly alcoholic. It made his face want to pucker. It wasn't _horrible, _but it wasn't something that he really liked, either. The mead wasn't bad. It evidently much sweeter than beer, but it wasn't as sweet as Butterbeer. But as it was actually alcoholic, he found the taste a bit odd.

Each troupe of creatures brought him a little gift, which was nice. Most of them were nice trinkets. Not that he was complaining. He wasn't expecting anything; they had all just met him. His pile of gifts included pretty stones (from the _jentilak, _the giants), leather goods, like bags and pouches, arm bands, and even a leather vest, a necklace of feathers and stones, and a feather mask for the _akelarre. _Viola, Garaile, and Prophyta banded together to get him a tunic and skirt— _ahem, _or rather, a _two piece robe, _that had hand stitched embroidery on the hems_. _At first he had thought that the embroidery was some swirly design, but after some review, he noted that it actually was a prayer in Euskera, the local dialect, punctuated by _Lauburu. _

After Harry had thanked everyone profusely, he mostly wandered around alone, drinking mead and feeling awkward. Everyone else had gone off in groups to catch up, and being new, he didn't have anyone that he felt comfortable talking to.

"Hello, Pretty One," a jet black-skinned _iratxo_ had approached him.

He was a young imp, around Harry's age or maybe a little older. And very beautiful in his own way. The complete pitch blackness of his skin, eyes and hair contrasted with his double rows of sharp white teeth. It made for a very dangerous picture, which increased the allure all the more. Even with the completeness of his dark-on-dark-ness, he could see the impeccable facial structure of the imp. It wasn't a traditional beauty like that of humans, but perhaps that make him more striking. Yet Harry for some reason was unnerved.

"Er…hello," he said uncertainly.

The _iratxo_ merely smiled, showing his pointy teeth.

"Mead?" the imp offered, for he was carrying two. It was clear that he had picked one up expressly for Harry.

Harry accepted it with a small smile. He quickly finished off the mead he had gotten for himself earlier. He had just taken a sip of the new mead when the thought occurred to him that it might have been tampered with He hoped the fact that they were at an _akelarre _would mean that it wasn't.

"My name's Ekaitz."

"Harry."

"Happy Birthday," Ekaitz smiled and stared at Harry's face in a way that made him turn pink.

"Thank you."

"How old are you turning?"

"Sixteen," Harry told him. He took a big gulp of mead to have something to do.

"That's a _nice _age," Ekaitz leered at him, his fangs— er, _teeth_— gleaming in the firelight.

"Uh. Thanks." Harry looked around at the other beings in the clearing, searching in vain for a topic of conversation.

"I can see why you became a man so early," Ekaitz shot a hand out and caressed Harry's mark. He was referring, of course, to the fact that here, they used having sex for the first time as the marker into adulthood.

Harry felt awkward having someone else touch the mark for the first time. It felt so intensely personal, even more intimate than if the _iratxo_ had touched him on the neck or something. He subtly tried to move his arm away.

"Er…thanks." This was a very awkward conversation. It felt very stilted. Harry thought that all he was doing was thanking the other. He searched the clearing again, betraying his nerves at the awkward situation. He noticed, in the way that one tends to notice the oddest things in uncomfortable situations, a female _iraxta _across the clearing giving him the evil eye. He hoped that their form of magic didn't actually make evil glares harmful, or else he was in deep shi— trouble.

"How do you like it here so far?"

"It's nice. Everyone's really nice. I haven't quite gotten to meet everyone yet, though," Harry smiled, relieved at finally having something to say.

"Oh you will. I hope you and I can get to _know _each other soon enough," he leered.

Harry, being more than a little tipsy by now, and that compounded with the fact that he was pretty much an idiot when it came to emotions, didn't notice. He, in fact, wondered why Ekaitz had emphasized the 'know' in that sentence.

"Uh, yeah, me too," he replied, not knowing what to say.

Ekaitz's smile got bigger.

"You will join the _iratxoak _for two nights soon. We can get better _acquainted _then."

Harry noted the emphasis on 'acquainted.' _What an odd way to speak_, he thought.

"Well, yes. But why don't we get to know each other a little now? We have time till the _akelarre _starts," Harry suggested innocently. He didn't see why they had to wait to talk. It would give him something to do and someone to talk with instead of standing awkwardly alone, anyway.

Ekaitz looked a little surprised, and then he smiled broadly. "Oh, yes. I can _definitely _see why you became a man so soon." He reached up and pushed some hair away from Harry's face.

He was confused at the apparent non sequitur, but was feeling too inebriated to really care. Harry smiled warily. He was getting an odd feeling from this. "So, uhm, you go first."

Ekaitz smiled roguishly and caressed Harry's cheek. Harry turned quite red. Before anything else could be said, Ekaitz swooped in for a kiss.

Harry choked, surprised out of his gourd. He had just told the _iratxo _to ask a question about him, not to kiss him! Right? He mentally quickly reviewed the situation, and came up with pretty much the same answer.

He belatedly jerked back from the kiss. Luckily, it hadn't gotten a chance to deepen too much. As it was, his faculties were definitely suffering from the alcohol. It was made especially worse as he had never drunk alcohol before.

"Ekaitz, what?" Harry was very confused. He wiped a string of spit from his lips that had dripped onto his chin.

Ekaitz looked just as confused. "You just said we can _get to know each other a little,_" he said, as if explaining to a four year old.

"_Yeah. _I meant, like, ask me a question. Why did you kiss me?"

Ekaitz looked abashed, then a little angry. "You were coming on to me, you little minx! How can you pretend that you didn't want that?"

"I wasn't coming on to you! I mean, I didn't mean to! I just was trying to be nice."

"Nice?" Ekaitz shook his head. "You were practically begging for it, smiling at me and flirting and stuff!"

"No! I mean, I didn't mean to. I didn't know what you were talking about." Now that Harry knew the truth, he felt a little stupid for not having realized why Ekaitz had been speaking so strangely and emphasizing odd words. It was just too subtle for him! He was a Gryffindor!

Ekaitz sputtered. "I made my intentions clear and you agreed!"

Harry could tell that both of them were getting a little angry. Tensions were mounting, and the increased volume of their voices was starting to attract attention. He shushed Ekaitz, and dragged him by the elbow to the edge of the clearing.

"Look," he said, taking control of the situation, "It's not that I don't like you. You're very attractive. And I really appreciate the attention. I do. But I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come off as wanting anything. I think we just misunderstood each other."

Ekaitz steamed. Actually, he would never admit it, but he was pouting. Sinister looking or not, he was clearly pouting.

"Listen," Harry sighed. "I have never been good with emotional stuff. I just… don't know what to do. I didn't realize you were hitting on me at all." He _had _realized, a _little_. He wasn't _that _stupid. Right? He just didn't realize exactly _what _Ekaitz had meant. "I just don't want to start something, because I'm going to be going home in a couple weeks. I don't want to begin something I can't finish."

Ekaitz still looked very sour, but seemed to realize that Harry was letting him down easy. His pride got in the way of begging for Harry to reconsider.

"Fine. I hope you enjoy your stay here," he said stiffly, and walked off. He was quickly intercepted by the female imp that had been glaring at Harry earlier.

Harry watched him go, a little sad. He had hoped to make friends here, and had thought he was starting with Ekaitz, but it wasn't the case. He just hoped that it wasn't awkward at all when Harry went to go spend two nights with the _iratxoak. _

After the casual birthday party, they all moved to the _akelarre. _Harry donned his brand new feather mask and feather necklace for it. As it was a normal _akelarre,_ the tub that had previously been on the platform was removed. It was interesting to see what a normal _akelarre _was like. Besides the _aztio _there was no main attraction. Instead of having a ritual, they all prayed and sang and chanted, keeping rhythm with their hands. Since Harry didn't know any of the prayers, songs or chants, he pretty much just sat and listened. It was a humbling experience to see all these creatures banding together to sing and worship their gods.

Harry also got to see what it was like after the _akelarre, _as last time he had been passed out. It was pretty much the reverse of before the _akelarre. _They finished the food, or packed it up, and talked in groups. For, like, ever. Harry was quite tired, as he still wasn't totally used to the new schedule he had. It felt like they were talking for an eternity. He wasn't sure if it was polite to skip out without Prophyta, but after watching her for over half an hour, and seeing that she was still raring to go, he quietly interrupted to tell her that he was leaving, and not to worry. The town wasn't too far away, and with that many people in the vicinity, he was safe.

It was for the best that he had left anyway, as Prophyta didn't return until well after he had fallen into a deep sleep. And then she woke him up bright and early the next day, already juked up on caffeine, so he could go to Viola's.

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AN:

**SO SO sorry for the delay**. The whole moving to China thing (while not speaking the language.. hah hah...ehhh), it turns out, is a lot harder than I had thought. Which is saying a lot. It also doesn't help that I'm having a bit of trouble with the whole "explanation chapter" thing, so we're going to have to work around that for a bit. I actually tried to post this a few days ago but FFN was being dumb and wouldn't let me upload. And then this document upload thingy was confusing me (easily confused).

I also put up a **chart-sort-of-thing on my profile** (and also below), about all the creatures/OCs in this story. **There are only a few **that you really need to know about. Just because I name them or say their species, doesn't mean that you have to remember who they are later. I just wanted to give them cool names.

Also, I had a question about what an Avatar is. Basically, think of it this way: an avatar does the work of a particular deity instead of the deity having to do it his or herself.

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**Species of creature in plural (in Singular male and fem.) / Species in English / Names of Creatures /**

Sorginak (Sorgino/-a) / Witches (magic more similar to Wicca than HP) / Garaile, **Viola, and Prophyta**

Iratxoak (Iratxo/-a) / Imps (black hair, eyes(including sclera), and skin, and very sharp double-rows of teeth) / Aitor, **Ekaitz, Tinieblas**

Jentilak (Jentilo/-a) / Giants (Big and dumb) / Zorion

Lamiak (Lamia) / Female Nymphs (Green skin and hair, bird-like legs) / Euria

Mairuak (Mairu) / Male Nymphs (Green skin and hair, bird-like legs) / Jokin

Aztiak (Aztio) / Soothsayer / Kemen

Herensuge / Dragon **/ Aintza**

xxxx / Serpent (leader) **/ Itxaro**

Tartalo / Cyclops / Gorg

Basajunak (Basajun) / Male Wild men, very hairy; red hair Ortzi

Basandereak (Basandere) / Female Wild women, very hairy;red hair /...

Gaueko / Great black wolfhound that sometimes walks upright; Lord of Black Magic / **Zeru**

xxx / a god or diety, male counterpart to Mari (tan skin, dark brown hair, completely black eyes) / **Sugaar** aka Sugoi, aka Maju

_** NAME IN BOLD means character is important for story**_. **_Others may be disregarded. (Sorry if this is complicated. Stupid FFN is impossible to format )

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Review, please!  
_**


	17. J’ai alluméי le feu

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

AN: There is a brief mention (description) of masturbation in this chapter.

_Last Chapter: After Harry's birthday party, he participated in an akelarre. _

It was for the best that he had left anyway, as Prophyta didn't return until well after he had fallen into a deep sleep. And then she woke him up bright and early the next day, already juked up on caffeine, so he could go to Viola's.

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien!**

Chapter 17: J'ai allumé le feu

After the _lamiak, _he met with the _jentilak, _the giants. The leader of the giant clan was an enormous giantess. She was big, even for a giant, though she wasn't the largest of the _jentilak. _She had come into her position by being smarter than the others. Which was saying a lot, because the giants were as stupid as Grawp. But they had helped the _sorginak _build their homes and buildings. It seemed that they were idiot savants when it came to building; though they had to have extensive directions, they seemed to have an innate knowledge of where to place stones, and creating support and load-bearing walls.

As a product of this, they all lived in wonky, but very strong houses. Without the instruction of the _sorginak _to tell them where and how to put the stones to make things pretty, they just made structures on their own, the best they could. And since their knowledge came in how to make strong buildings, and circles were the strongest structure, all of their buildings were basically circular dome-like rooms connected by winding, wandering circular tubes for hallways. It was easy to get lost in the maze of tunnel-like hallways.

One nice thing about staying with the _jentilak _was that he was able to stay in his own room, which wasn't necessarily something he would have in future stays with creatures. Granted, he always had the option of going back to Prophyta's to sleep, but he didn't want to rely on that too much. Especially because he wanted to learn as much as possible during his stay.

Harry definitely took advantage of the privacy of his dome-like room after dinner. Thick, stone walls mixed with a very bored Harry made for lots of horseplay. He tried scaling the walls (not very far, mind you), jumped around a bit, screamed and sang at the top of his lungs, and practiced a little bit of magic. Finally, all his boredom options had almost run out. He knew he was at the bottom of the barrel when he started to press his fingers against his closed eyes to watch the light shows. But there was one more thing that he hadn't yet done. He had been too busy lately to think much of it, and also hadn't had much private time where he knew he wouldn't be walked in on. Taking full advantage of the privacy of his room, he stripped himself entirely bare, and laid himself down on top of his clothes in the middle of his room.

Being a teenager, and one who hadn't touched himself recently at that, it didn't take him very long to get hard. He began to stroke himself, thinking of the night at the Department of Mysteries. His left hand dipped down to knead at his balls as he recalled the brisk pace of their fucking. He dipped it further down and circled his hole before dipping just the tip of his finger in. He imagined Lucius over him, thrusting deeply into his body, and exploded his seed into his hand and onto his abdomen. Harry was quite glad that he was alone, as the entire experience had only taken about two minutes. Oh, the joys of being a teenager.

He cleaned himself off with a thought, as he wasn't sure whether or not he could even use his wand during the summer, and settled in to a mound of furs that was his bed. He realized how relaxed he was after his orgasm, and decided to go to bed early.

The _tartalo, _Gorg the Cyclops, was just as stupid as the giants. And they didn't live in homes at all. _Tartaloak_ were solitary creatures, and only got together for mating, and so could not build large structures. And since there was only the one _tartalo_, the two nights Harry spent with him were very boring. Especially since it turned out the cyclopses lived very long lives, so their concept of time was different than a human's. Therefore having a conversation with a _tartalo _was not only simplistic, but also took a very long time. Harry spent a lot of time thinking how disturbing it was to look at someone with only one eye, and wondering if Gorg's depth perception was bad.

Then Harry met with the _iratxoak, _the imps. He was glad that he had been allowed to get used to meeting with groups of creatures at night, and meeting new people, before he had been forced to meet with the _iratxoak._ As it was, meeting with them after his incident with Ekaitz was awkward enough. Ekaitz ended up just ignoring him the entire timeHarry spent with the imps, while the female _iraxta _(whom he had learned was named Tinieblas1)glared silently at him. Added to that, the _iratxoak, _led by Aitor,whom he had met before, were malicious trouble makers. All of them, like Aitor, Ekaitz and Tinieblas, sported pitch black skin, double rows of razor sharp teeth, pure black eyes with no sclera, and jet black hair. The complete blackness of their bodies helped them hide at night.

They hated humans, though they tolerated Harry because they said that, as an avatar of a god, he was no longer considered human. Harry was glad for that. The _iratxoak _were just as lively and playful as their English and German imp counterparts, but were more vicious. As they lived in relative peace with the _sorginak, _the imps traveled to the nearby Donostia, known better as San Sebastian, to cause trouble with the humans. Causing trouble, to them, was almost as necessary as eating food. They still ate real food, but they were almost like Dementors in the way that they fed off of the emotions of humans—in their case it was the distress they fed off of instead of happiness. If they went for too long without causing distress, or being near distressed people, they began to fade, though they wouldn't die.

Harry had to go with them that first night to San Sebastian. The way they traveled, he learned, was completely silent. They referred to it as _uncorpear, _or uncorporating. He suspected it was the way that Prophyta traveled when he had first met her. Instead of imagining oneself squishing down, like they would for apparating (or so he had heard), he had to imagine himself expanding and dissolving, and traveling as a million different, and individually conscious particles. That was the hardest part, as the expanding and dissolving was easy because it reminded him a little of _Star Trek, _a television show that he had seen Dudley watching when Vernon and Petunia weren't paying attention. It was definitely a strange feeling having a million different consciousnesses but one at the same time. It was almost like hive thinking. Evidently the form of transportation was a specialized way to travel, passed down by the imps. Since they disliked humans, they didn't tend to tell the secret of this method of travel to witches and wizards. Which begged the question, how did Prophyta know?

He quickly found that he didn't enjoy his time in San Sebastian. While some _iratxoak _merely played pranks, like moving one's keys or taking singular socks, or even something nastier like putting a laxative in a bottle of juice, some were even more malicious. They used their increased stealth and completely black bodies to sneak into bedrooms at night, and whisper the person's worries and fears into their ears, or they would take drunks and put them in compromising situations, or cause them pains that would last for days. Aitor, the most vicious of all the _iratxoak, _actually brutally killed a dog and left it in front of a primary school.

Tinieblas, whom he had tried to avoid but had gotten pushed off on, was quite vicious as well, though Harry suspected it had more to do with his presence than anything else. That was because she managed to find the palest dark-skinned young men, all around Harry's age, and very, _very _carefully gave them papercuts on their penises. Each time he heard the whispering of paper on skin, a dark chill would sweep up his spine. He wasn't sure if she knew, as a woman, just _how _painful it was, even to just listen to. Then again, maybe she did. The dark looks she gave to Harry seemed to communicate her desire to do all that and more to _him_. He suspected that she was jealous of the attention he had briefly received from her fellow _iraxto _Ekaitz, but frankly couldn't see a good reason for her to be so worried and so spiteful at the same time. He couldn't think of any other reason that she would be all worked up over. Then again, maybe she was crazy.

Harry had spent a long night of doing unpleasant things, and had realized part way through, that he still had one more night with the imps. And thus, after that realization, his Slytherin side— which might have seemed often dormant, but in reality was so ever-present that it had subconsciously shoved forward his Gryffindorness when in school— began to plot. He subtly began making more noise as he followed the imps, tripping, though not falling, and stepping heavier, and even breathing heavier. He made it hard for them to sneak around their prey, but just subtly enough that they wouldn't think it calculated. By the end of the night, he had stepped and tripped and breathed his way under everyone's skin. He could tell by the way that they looked at him out of the corners of their eyes, and the way they all tried to push him off on each other, that they were all annoyed.

The next night, Harry was left behind. They told him that he needed to protect the female imp that stayed behind to care for her baby. Harry knew that they always left her behind every other night, as she switched off babysitting with her mate, but was glad to sit the night in silence nonetheless.

oooooooooooooooooo

Harry began to have lessons with the Lord Gaueko. In the mornings, when Harry got to Viola's house, Harry would first work on his _magia nahia, _though after a while he just sat in the kitchen while Viola made bread, and very rarely did he need any help. After a couple hours, Lord Gaueko would show up and talk with Harry. They began their lessons by practicing controlling one's emotions. He at first, had tried to get Harry to remain calm while he insulted and railed at him, which reminded Harry quite a bit of Snape. It just made him angrier. The Lord Gaueko had learned eventually that that method would get him nowhere. So he had instead showed Harry how to meditate, and told him a couple tricks that he used to keep his own anger down when his beast became riled.

The lessons, after a few days, became a sort of general learning time for Harry. He and the Lord Gaueko quickly found that they got along, as both quite enjoyed having someone that they could speak frankly to, and whom they could be spoken to frankly by. The Lord Gaueko, or Zeru, as he insisted to be called, taught Harry how to be diplomatic, about creature etiquette, and even a little about playing politics. He told Harry pretty much the same thing that Erastes had: the Wizarding world would look to him for guidance no matter what, so he should take advantage of it. He had a very machiavellian concept of politics, which was appropriate, considering that he had briefly lived in Florence, and had had discussions with Niccolo Machiavelli himself, back in the 1500s.

Zeru, as the Lord Gaueko, was also the Lord of the Black Magic. It had surprised Harry a little, considering how well he got along with the Lord Gaueko. He never would have known. When he mentioned that to Zeru, the beast lord had laughed heartily, and said that most people would not be surprised at all, solely because he was a _gaueko_. That led to an interesting conversation about evil natures, and Dark magic versus Black magic.

"But, I understand that you're dangerous and everything, but I've gotten to know you, and I couldn't believe you were capable of such malevolent magic!" Harry had said.

"I am a _gaueko, _the animal that haunts dreams and eats shepherds and massacres their herds. Simply being what I am is enough for some people."

"But! That doesn't make any sense."

"Ah, see, _that _is why _you _must rebalance the Wizarding world. You have a refreshingly open mind, young Sugoitxo."

"Wait, how is that why _I _must rebalance the Wizarding world? No one's told me how it's unbalanced, or what I have to do to rebalance it!"

"In time you will know."

Harry made a growling sound low in his throat.

Zeru chuckled, "You have been spending too much time with me, young one, to be growling like that."

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me that, tell me what's the difference between Dark magic and Black magic?"

"Black magic draws purely on malevolent powers. Those that believe in the Devil believe that the power is drawn from him. Black magic is _purely _used to harm, cause misfortune, or destruction. There is no good in Black magic. It is also a difference in form. Black magicians must use a ritual to perform Black magic, and must sacrifice a little of themselves to do it. As Lord of the Black Magic, I am able to take back what I sacrifice, and thus stay whole." Zeru paused and looked at Harry, who nodded his understanding.

"Dark magic, on the other hand, is purely a label. Not that that doesn't mean that it's an ineffective label. The fear associated with the label is what is detrimental. The term is often used to refer to harmful offensive magic, as all Dark magic is offensive in its own way. Even things used for defense, like wards, can be offensive if they have the capacity to harm. But the words 'Dark magic' are a meaningless label. Sugoitxo, magic itself isn't inherently good or bad. There are many incantations that you wizards use that could be used to harm as well as help (though helping gives off a certain connotation of 'good' that shouldn't be present). The intention of the caster is the key."

"Then why— I mean, I've heard so much about the Dark Arts and Dark wizards, but how can people say that if there's no good or bad magic?"

"Ah, magic isn't good or bad, as it isn't a living thing, and can't _be _'good' or 'bad.' But it can be harmful or harmless. That is the difference. Intention. And it also has to do with the balance of the Wizarding world."

At Harry's disgruntled expression, Zeru smiled and said, "I am sorry that I cannot explain it right now. There is one more thing that you must find out before you can know. But rest assured you will know soon."

"Can you even explain what you mean that Dark magic has to do with the balance of the Wizarding world? Or am I not ready for that, either?"

"No need to be snippy, little one. I was merely pointing out that your world has given it this label and shrouded it in fear and loathing. A healthy respect for harmful magic is good, but nothing should be taken to the extreme."

"But how is harmful magic not bad all around? Isn't that where it came from? How can it be good?"

"Ah, but harmful things are useful sometimes. Like weapons. Without them we could not defend against animals, nor hunt, nor have effective armies. And before you ask why we need armies at all, it is not in human nature to be pacifistic. They are too mistrusting, and too cunning to not have armies. The world needs harmful magic just as it needs harmless magic."

Harry conceded the point. Then he thought of something else. "But then, what about the seduction of darkness, and Dark Arts addictions?"

"That is the nature of magic. Magic, at its most extreme ends, is all addictive. When using much power, magic caresses one's body. It's euphoric. You can feel it when it is being cast, unlike for the less powerful spells. There is something about magic. It is not sentient, but it _wants _to be used in great amounts. It wants to be used and recycled and churned around. The feeling of 'addiction,' is just a product of feeling the magic embracing one's body. Strong 'Light' spells create addictions as well, but it is more socially acceptable to be addicted to 'Light magic' than 'Dark magic.'"

Hm. _That's food for thought, _thought Harry. He wondered what Erastes would say. Also, since Zeru was the Lord of the Black Magic, Harry thought that his views might be a little biased, but Harry trusted him. It also helped that Zeru was evidently more than 400 years old and was very intelligent.

He also thought that he had a better idea of what was meant by 'restoring the balance to the Wizarding world,' by now. No one had directly told him yet, but they had talked around it enough to think it was something to do with the balance between Dark and Light and the fear that surrounded the former.

Now that didn't sound so bad, and didn't seem like anything that he would be forbidden to know. So the question became, what was he missing, that was so big that he 'wasn't ready' to know?

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AN: Sorry again for the long-ish wait. Busy busy and all that crap, blah blah blah. I'd also like to say two things: **sorry for not replying to reviews yet, **I will do that…eventually. I usually like to reply to them before I add a chapter, but I have to be somewhere in 15 minutes, and I figured you'd rather have the chapter. This also means that this **has not been proof read, **so sorry if there are any mistakes. I usually like to proof read before I post, but again, no time. And tomorrow I leave for Hong Kong for two weeks or so, **so I won't have time to reply to reviews or proof read. **

_**Please **_tell me if you are still confused about anything! I want to know if I am losing people!

(1) Means _darkness_ in Spanish. I thought it apropos.

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**Review, please! **


	18. Interlude 5

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

Summary:After their night of uncontrolled lust, brought together by the Room of Desire, neither Lucius nor Harry can stop thinking of the other. But they are still on different sides of the war. Will they give in to their own desires for more, and if so, whose side will they turn to? And what is up with this mark on his arm? A continuation of enchanted nightingale's Room of Desire, with permission. Slash. Possible Dark!Harry. I can't tell you more without giving away the plot...

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Last Chapter (though since this is an interlude you don't really need to know this):

_He also thought that he had a better idea of what was meant by 'restoring the balance to the Wizarding world,' by now. No one had directly told him yet, but they had talked around it enough to think it was something to do with the balance between Dark and Light and the fear that surrounded the former._

_Now that didn't sound so bad, and didn't seem like anything that he would be forbidden to know. So the question became, what was he missing, that was so big that he 'wasn't ready' to know?_

_**AND **sorry in advance for all the parts edited out. This is kind of smutty, kiddies. Seriously, if you want me to post the fun-- I mean smutty parts somewhere tell me, cause I'm still writin' 'em. I still kept some of it in a) because I hope you need a reward for waiting this long, and b) because some of the stuff ties in with plot (gasp)._

_**Also, **as for the quotes, you're **not supposed to understand **what's being said, since Lucius doesn't. There's no symbolism for it either.  
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**INTERLUDE 5:**

Lucius was having that dream where he was twelve and he was running late for the Hogwarts express because his parents hadn't wanted to take him to a station in the _Muggle _world ('…_and don't you want to stay in France anyway, Lucius, my son,' _they had said, even though it wasn't really a question, '_France is so much less barbaric…'_), when he was ripped into another dream. It was just as well, too, as he had just gotten to the part when he had gotten onto the platform to see the train already starting its slow acceleration.

Everything was pitch black, but then he realized that he had his eyes closed. He opened them and started violently. His heart pounded rapidly for a couple beats. Right up in his face was a green skinned young woman. In fact, her hair was green, too. She smiled impishly at him.

"What?" he said.

The young woman merely giggled. For a second, Lucius thought she might lean in for a kiss, but then she pulled away.

They were in a clearing of woods, lying on a bed of moss and lichen. He didn't recognize the place, but figured that since it was evidently still a dream, this fact wasn't necessarily alarming. He looked around. Stars shone brightly through the gaps in the trees— more brightly than they would have close to a city. He suddenly was in a sitting position, though he had not moved. There were similarly colored women and girls all around the clearing, combing their hair, whispering to each other, singing, and playing with a baby bear.

There was one figure across the clearing, though, that did not have green skin. It was a young man with dark hair. Lucius realized with a start that it was actually Harry Potter. Which was odd, because he knew that Harry was at the Weasley's. _Oh, right. Dream._

"Harry."

Suddenly, Lucius was standing, wearing an elaborate robe with gold ropes and knots on it. He wasn't sure if it was even possible for such a piece of clothing to ever be possible, even if one could figure out how to put it on. Almost all the green-colored women were around him, dancing and prancing around him in a circle. Some even reached out to touch him. They caressed his hair, his robes, his skin and even his face. Lucius fought not to make an ugly face. He glanced over to Harry to find him surrounded by his own green-skinned people.

There were only three green beings around Harry: a man and two women, but Lucius wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. On one hand, that was less people harassing and touching his Harry. On the other, he could see that the touches were far more intimate with those four than they were with him. The hands lingered longer, and were in more private places than they were with him. Lucius inwardly grimaced.

Harry caught his eye and smiled at him. "_En tu cuarto frío, mira las estrellas que tiemblan con amor y esperanza. __Pero mi secreto está escondido dentro de mi.(1)__"_ Harry whispered, but Lucius could hear him as though he spoke directly in his ear.

Lucius didn't understand what Harry had said. He remembered distantly that Harry didn't, in fact, speak another language. He recognized the language Harry was speaking as Spanish. He had caught a few words, but had spent most of the sentence figuring out what language was being spoken to know what had been said. In general, French and Spanish were similar enough that he could figure out what was being said. Also, though he hadn't outright studied Spanish, he had seen a few books, and had been to Spain on vacation once, before he and Narcissa had gotten married.

Harry smiled sweetly at him from across the clearing. _"Mi corazón vuele como el aire. ¿Quién quiere amarme?¿Quién quiere mi corazón? Está aquí para tomar.__(2)__"_

The green skinned beings giggled loudly. So did the bear.

Lucius had understood the gist of what the teen had said. He had said that his heart was flying like the air, and asked who wanted to love him, who wanted his heart? The end was unclear to Lucius.

Harry turned to the nearest green girl and whispered something to her. She giggled, reached out to caress Harry's chest, and shouted something Lucius didn't catch. The girls squealed as one and scurried away through the underbrush, out of the clearing.

Lucius finally got a good look at Harry. He was wearing what looked like a tunic and a skirt, both with embroidery, and was barefoot. Around his neck hung a necklace made of brightly colored feathers. He held in his hand what looked like a matching feather mask. Harry blushed under his scrutiny, and sauntered over, a shy smile on his face.

"Harry, it is good to see you. But I must admit I cannot quite understand what you are saying."

Lucius wanted to reach out to Harry but his body wouldn't respond.

"_Mis palabras por ti nadan en mis venas."_

That had been something about words for Lucius, and veins.

Harry was close now, and had reached up a slightly tan hand to lightly caress Lucius's pale cheek. Lucius wasn't quite sure what to do. But, being who he was, that never stopped him. He leaned down to deliver a kiss on those sweet pink lips.

Harry giggled and pulled away. He ran to a stream that Lucius was sure hadn't been there a moment before. He pulled off his tunic and skirt faster than should have been possible, revealing his smooth white skin. Before the shocked Lucius could even react, Harry had slid into the shallows of the stream, obscuring his privates from the world.

Lucius watched as Harry ran his fingers through the water, looking for all the world to not realize, or care, that he was standing fifteen feet away. Lucius took a couple steps closer. The dark haired teen's eyes turned and pierced him, making him feel naked. And then suddenly, he was. Which was probably a good thing as he didn't have the first idea how he would have gotten those elaborate robes off. He set down his triton, which he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying.

"_Las noches cálidas de verano l__lenan mi corazón con fuego y luz."_

Harry's words, from what Lucius had gathered so far, seemed to be assortments of poetic, romantic nonsense. The last phrase had been about warm summer nights filling his heart with fire and light. Or was that they _called _his heart fire and light? Lucius wasn't sure.

Harry held a hand out and Lucius climbed into the water. It was cool on his skin, but not too cold. He stopped when he was but two feet from Harry. He reached out his hand and trailed his fingertips on Lucius's skin. Now that they were both naked, the touch of the teen's hand on his neck and chest burned into his skin. The fingertips left trails of wetness in their wake that quickly cooled in the night air.

"_La luz de la luna acaricia tu cabello." _Harry pinched one of his sensitive nipples.

Lucius had been too distracted to understand what had been said, but frankly was starting to not care. He had been thinking about their night together for the last month. He had been surprised by how consumed by the teen he was. He assumed it was the fact that he had been given the task by his lord to seduce Harry to the Dark side— in more ways than one. But Lucius had found himself touching himself more and more often. And it was always to thoughts of Harry. He felt like a bleeding teenager. His fantasies had nothing on this dream. It was so much more…uncontrolled. Which enhanced the reality of the dream. And as it was a dream, he could do what he wanted without repercussions.

Lucius raised his hands and set them on Harry's arms. Both of them stepped forwards at once, bringing them chest to chest. Well, more like chest to stomach, considering the height difference, even though this Harry was perhaps a little taller than the real Harry. Lucius was taller than Harry, but not tall enough to be uncomfortable.

Harry looked up, and Lucius tilted his head down. Their lips met in a chaste, but passionate kiss that quickly deepened. Harry raised his arms and wrapped them around his neck, and Lucius in turn moved his own hands down to Harry's waist. Lucius ran his tongue along the young man's lower lip. The soft pink lips opened, letting him dart his tongue into the mouth. Lucius had never been one for sticking his tongue down other people's throats, so he let his tongue massage just the tip of the dark haired teen's. He felt behind Harry's front teeth, but went no further. His tongue teased Harry's, and the teen's tongue hesitantly responded. After a time, Harry had gained enough confidence to chase Lucius's tongue back into his own mouth, and the process was reversed.

Lucius reached his hands down to cup at Harry's buttocks. He began to massage the firm muscles with his hands. Harry gasped. He palmed the fleshy bottom and realized that they were both hard and had been grinding against each other unconsciously. He could feel Harry's hard heat against his thigh. His own answering hardness ground into the teen's stomach. His balls dipped in and out of the stream with each movement.

"Harry," he gasped.

Lucius slipped a thigh in between Harry's legs. Harry whimpered into his mouth as he rode and ground his cock into Lucius's hard quad muscles, gained from hours of swimming and horse riding. A wind came out of nowhere and whipped around them. Harry threw his head back and gasped, breaking the kiss.

Lucius took advantage of the situation and began to nip at Harry's ear, and his neck. The teen moaned. He sucked on the skin of Harry's neck, and mouthed his way down. He started nipping at his collarbone, his bites getting progressively harder and harder. Harry's moans in response got progressively louder and louder.

Harry's hands clutched spasmodically at Lucius's neck and shoulder, and he had his head thrown back in bliss. Lucius's hands on the teen's buttocks were pulling and grinding them together. The dark-haired wizard caressed his hands down Lucius's chest, straying to each nipple before brushing through blonde chest hair. One hand wandered further, down his abdomen, before grazing blonde pubic hair. Lucius sucked in a breath has he felt a small hand on his member. It squeezed and let go a couple of times. He bit down harder on the shoulder in his mouth, moaning.

The hands paused for a second, seeming to allow Harry to gather some strength. The hand on Lucius's chest pushed him away gently. He looked down. Harry's cheeks were flushed with pink. Lust clouded emerald eyes met his. He ground his hips into the younger wizard's again. Their faces were still close enough together that their breath mingled, swirling hotly in the night air around them.

EDITED OUT

"Harry… that was amazing. Thank you," Lucius said, as Harry placed small kisses on his chest.

Harry merely smiled up at him in response. He looked like a debauched angel, his skin pale and shining in the moonlight, but his hair mussed and his cheeks blushing and his lips dark and swollen. He slowly pushed Harry farther towards the shore so his crotch wouldn't be submerged in the water.

Lucius realized that Harry was still very hard, and leaking. He decided to pay back the experience. He captured Harry's lips in a short, but passionate kiss, biting softly at the reddened, swollen lips. He quickly worked his way down the lithe body, biting and nipping at the flawless skin. He stopped to lathe at the small, dusty nipples, drawing an excited gasp. Small hands grasped tightly on his shoulders. He noticed a strangely shaped birthmark on one of Harry's arms that he had never noticed before. How odd.

He paid as much attention he could to the chest before the strangeness of the uncomfortable position forced him to his knees.

EDITED OUT

"_¡Ng! ¡__Por Dios__! ¡Lucius! ¡Oh!"_

He could hear Harry moaning and yelling and gasping above him. He massaged Harry's hips as best he could, while still holding his weight. A breeze whipped up and plucked at Lucius's long blonde hair.

"_¡Oh, Lucius_, _estoy— ah, me corro, me corro! Oh, Dios. ¡Oh, oh!"_

EDITED OUT

He vaguely felt a wind whipping at their bodies. He was definitely holding the teen's entire weight up now. Harry gave a few low, broken moans.

Lucius gently lowered Harry down to his knees in the water. His kissed Harry chastely on the lips. The dark haired wizard sighed and rested his head tiredly on Lucius's chest. Both of them were satisfied and coming down from their orgasmic highs.

The stream quickly trickled to a stop, somehow leaving the ground dry beneath their knees. Lucius could feel the dream scene changing. As he was pulled into another dream, he vaguely heard a quiet voice from his chest.

"_Me gustaría solo un momento más_

_para mi sueno de amor._

_Y de cautivarte sería capaz_

_con la dulce canción de mi corazón."__(3)_

oooooooooooooooooo

Lucius woke up a couple hours later to cool and drying come on his chest and groin. It itched, which sent him into a bad mood. He wasn't some hormonal teen. _Dirtying one's sheets, how plebian. _Then he remembered his erotic dream, though he usually didn't, and it erased his bad mood. It was the most powerful erotic dream he had had since he himself was a teen. As he got out his wand to clean himself off, he wondered at the intensity of it.

It had definitely been a strange, senseless dream. He remembered it had been filled with green skinned women, Harry speaking in a language he didn't know, and quotes from operas he had seen, but in Spanish. That in itself was odd, because it begged the questions of how he was able to dream in Spanish when he had never even studied the language? But he very clearly remembered the intense sexual pleasure he had given and received. He began to stroke his cock to harness, trying to recall every moment and feeling from his dream.

oooooooooooooo

A thousand miles away, Harry woke to find himself covered in come. He had had another wet dream. But this one had seemed more real than any other before. Maybe it was because he had dreamt about being in the forest with the _lamiak _and the _mairu. _But he remembered not having any control over what he was saying. He kept saying odd, poetic sentences instead of what he had really wanted to say. And he remembered not understanding what Lucius was saying, for some reason, though he knew he had been speaking English. It was odd. But he attributed it to the strangeness of dreams, and went back to sleep.

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Author's notes:

Like I said before, you're not supposed to understand the Spanish. If you do, bully for you. If not, don't worry. It was supposed to be nonsense.

(1) Spanish translation of Nessun Dorma, from Turandot, and by that I mean I took the lyrics and translated them into Spanish cause it fit better.

(2) Reference to the Seguidilla in Carmen.

(3) From Liebesträume/Sogno d'amore by Franz Liszt

I usually really really hate songifcs. I just figured I needed some lyrics, didn't want to come up with my own, and a couple fit really well, then I decided to go with a theme, for the most part. Also from Lucius's POV, so it sort of fits?

sorry again for editing out all the smutty parts. It kind of makes it really choppy, huh?

*so, sorry sorry for the long long wait! My excuse is Real Life sucks. I mean, my boyfriend of 4.5 years broke up with me (ouch, right) and then I subsequently decided to move to China for real. And working from 9-7 isn't fun. This is for Aisling-Siobhan because I think I owe her like 5 chapters.

And yay for _finally _responding to reviews?

Review, please! I'll try to be better about it this time :)


	19. Mes Chagrins

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

Summary:After their night of uncontrolled lust, brought together by the Room of Desire, neither Lucius nor Harry can stop thinking of the other. But they are still on different sides of the war. Will they give in to their own desires for more, and if so, whose side will they turn to? And what is up with this mark on his arm? A continuation of enchanted nightingale's Room of Desire, with permission. Slash. Possible Dark!Harry. I can't tell you more without giving away the plot...

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Last (relevant) Chapter:

_He also thought that he had a better idea of what was meant by 'restoring the balance to the Wizarding world,' by now. No one had directly told him yet, but they had talked around it enough to think it was something to do with the balance between Dark and Light and the fear that surrounded the former._

_Now that didn't sound so bad, and didn't seem like anything that he would be forbidden to know. So the question became, what was he missing, that was so big that he 'wasn't ready' to know?_

_**Warning**: _

_The beginning of this chapter can be considered gory. If you don't want to read that, skip to about the middle_

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 19: Mes Chagrins_  
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It took Harry almost a week to convince Zeru to let him accompany him on one of his nightly activities. Zeru had told him that his normal nights were too dangerous, and simply too gruesome, for Harry to go with him. After much wheedling, and telling Zeru that war was approaching (and in fact had already started), and he would see these things eventually, and wouldn't it be best to see it with him, in a semi-controlled situation, the _gaueko _had agreed. But the night was to be relatively tame. There would be no indiscriminate raiding of sheep herds, or killing of farmers, or bringing down the pestilence. They were going into a nearby town to get an ingredient Zeru needed for an upcoming ritual. Harry pouted a little at first, feeling that he was being coddled.

"I am a beast, Sugoitxo," Zeru had said. "Our relationship makes it convenient for you to forget that. No matter how I act around you, you must remember that. I am a beast at heart."

"I won't forget. Really."

"Beasts have different standards of propriety than humans, Sugoitxo. We have no qualms in killing or devouring others. We are ruthless. It is what you would term _the circle of life_."

"I understand."

"You don't, yet. But you will," Lord Gaueko said ominously. "If it makes it easier on you, think of me purely as a beast."

Harry nodded somberly. "I understand. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Harry would later be eating his words.

After double checking that Harry really did want to go with him that night, the Gaueko Lord transported both of them to the plains of Spain. He said that he needed dinner before they procured whatever it was he needed for the ritual.

Zeru told Harry to stay on the top of the little hill they had landed on, and cantered off to a nearby flock of sheep. The sheep had somehow sensed a nearby danger, and begun to bleat and run in random, unorganized directions. However, being sheep, their motion merely made some of them come _closer _to where they stood.

Lord Gaueko, being an optimum hunter, was on them in a flash. They didn't have time to run away before he was on the first one, tearing his claws into its soft belly. He used his strong hands to tear the wool off of the stomach of the sheep, but only succeeding in creating a massive gash in its abdomen as he literally ripped its skin off. Harry was proud of himself for not shrinking away, but that pride died as he heard the panicked, tortured screams of the sheep. It was literally being eaten alive.

Zeru darted off of the injured sheep, not even bothering to eat more than a bite before attacking two other sheep before they could get away. All the other sheep in the flock had run off, bleating alarmedly. Now that all three sheep were incapacitated, Zeru set about eating them. He ripped open their stomachs. Since he had three at his disposal, he was able to only eat his most favorite parts of them: the liver, spleen, intestines and eyes. One by one he went through the sheep, gutting them and gouging out their eyes before eating the spoils. Harry was very glad that he was far enough away to not see details. In fact, he was a little upset that he wasn't farther away, as he could still see and hear enough detail to totally gross him out. The sheep were slowly dying from blood loss. Harry was disturbed to find that they all screamed until the last.

The ground around Zeru was turning into a dark puddle as blood seeped from the sheep onto the dead grass. Flecks and smears of blood shone black in the moonlight, covering Zeru's body and face.

In fact, as he watched Zeru lower himself onto his haunches to eat the intestines directly from the second sheep, Harry found that it was indeed easier to imagine himself watching a foul beast instead of his friend. It was almost like a gory version of a wilderness show. If he distanced himself from the situation, he could separate Zeru, the anthropomorphic Lord of the Black Magic, and this… _thing. _Crouched down like that, he even looked like a dog. An enormous, flesh-eating, feral dog, but a dog nonetheless.

Harry was suddenly glad that, as the avatar of Maju, he had nothing to fear from Zeru; it hadn't really occurred to him till that moment just how dangerous his friend was.

Even imagining Zeru as a beastly dog left him feeling a little nauseous, and he ended up throwing up a little into his mouth. He spat out the sour tasting bile and decided to just look in the opposite direction.

oooooooooooooo

Zeru, after cleaning himself marginally, came to Harry. Harry was glad, for his own part, that the _gaueko _didn't mention Harry's reaction to the scene at all. He merely led the teen silently through the plains of yellow grass. After a few minutes of walking, Zeru stopped and pointed to a distant hill. Harry hadn't thought much of the hill when he was walking, but now that it had been pointed out to him, he saw the outlines of a distant city atop it.

"That is Toledo," said Zeru.

It turned out that Toledo was a fairly large city about an hour outside of Madrid. It lay in the smack-dab center of the Iberian Peninsula. As it was a big enough, and old enough city, it had a secret magical portion that like Zugarramurdi had been hidden away hundreds of years before.

Zeru led Harry through the plains until the reached the bottom of the large hill. A ravine with a river separated them from the city. The _gaueko_ took his hand andled him through a darkened cluster of trees that turned into a tunnel of sorts. It was definitely a magical passage, as Harry had felt the magic wash over him as they passed through the cluster of trees. After about fifteen minutes of walking blindly through the magical passage, his eyes were met by the silvery moonlight. After being so long in the dark, the light of the moon seemed unnaturally bright. They came out onto a cobblestone street. In front of them ran a wall made of huge, tan stones.

To their right, along the wall was the entrance to… something. It was huge: four tall, round towers connected by an enormous set of wooden double doors. Over the doors stood a coat of arms. Harry could make out two huge eagles, some sort of shield, and… a sheep hanging down from the shield by a ribbon around its stomach(1). Harry fought a snort.

Zeru let go of his hand and walked to a smaller wooden door at the base of the farthest left tower. Harry hadn't even realized there _was _a door there.

The Gaueko Lord knocked on the door.

After a second, a face appeared _on_ the actual door. Harry supposed it was some sort of charm or ancient magic that animated the door. Like Dumbledore's gargoyle, but more advanced, because Zeru was holding a mumbled conversation with it. They were talking about him, as Harry could tell in the dark moonlight that the wooden face's eyes kept cutting over to him.

Soon enough, the door swung open and let them in.

"This is El Pasadizo."

What met Harry was quite a surprise. Architecturally, it was quite similar to Knockturn Alley. Big, stone buildings, narrow alleyways, and foreboding store windows. It was a little different than the Wizarding buildings in Britain, if only for the fact that the buildings themselves looked infinitely more sturdy. The walls actually met at 90 degree angles.

There were occasional torches along the street, but they were too high to really do any good. Mostly the street stayed illuminated with the moonlight. Harry wondered what El Pasadizo was like during the day. It seemed to have enough space along the street to have a great many stalls as well. It seemed that The Passage, as the name translated to in English, accommodated a different crowd at night.

Some of the stores were closed, but most were open, seeming to cater to the night crowd. Harry was surprised to see that it wasn't deserted. It wasn't as bustling as Diagon Alley during the day, or even Hogsmeade (even on a non Hogwarts day), but there were still figures scurrying about the street. Most of the people were covered in cloaks, but Harry could distinctly see the stooped forms of hags, pale skin of vampires, glints of sharp teeth, and flashes of unnaturally colored skin. Harry himself unconsciously bowed his head to hide his scar.

"Put your hood up," said Zeru softly.

Harry did. He noted that Lord Gaueko was still naked, save for the gold jewelry he wore. Zeru noticed the way Harry's eyes lingered on the hooded forms of the other shoppers.

"The international climate for darker beings and creatures has been coming to a head. It is only natural for people to feel safer being concealed."

Harry could see what he meant. He felt safer being covered. But he secretly wondered if all the cloaks and secrecy made things worse.

"It is already late. We shouldn't stay long. Come quickly." Zeru darted into a store a few doors down.

Harry hastened to follow.

The store seemed to be some sort of apothecary. It reminded Harry of Snape's office. Jars and baskets of pickled animals, body parts, and plants lined the shelves. It wasn't the biggest store, but it was fairly open. Shelves lined the walls, and a counter ran around the store, but the main area was mostly open, save for a few low shelves.

Zeru was already at the counter, talking to the proprietor. Harry decided to hang back. He was a little grossed out by the jars of unmentionable objects, though he had seen it in Snape's office all the time last year. He tried not to look at them, but found that being bored made his attention stray to the shelves like a magnet. It was like looking at a car crash. Fascinating, gory and quite gross.

The proprietor of the store had brought out a medium barrel and was showing it to Zeru. They both had long, black gloves on and were mumbling to each other over the barrel.

The store owner reached into the bucket and pulled out a large, black, slimy object. It flopped gruesomely in his hand and dripped black colored slime onto the counter. When the slime landed on the counter, a faint sizzling could be heard, and smoke or steam came from it. It was burning a hole in the counter. Harry couldn't tell what the object was, or even what shape it was, due to their gloves.

Zeru took it, and the owner pulled out another slimy thing. Zeru shook his head. The proprietor put back the second slime ball and brought out a third. Zeru took it in his other huge, gloved, clawed hand and hefted each. Then he _tasted _first one, then the other. After a bit of sniffing, and flopping the black things around, Zeru chose the one on the right.

After a bit of haggling, Lord Gaueko paid quite a bit of gold, wrapped the black slimy object in wax paper, and came over to Harry.

"See anything interesting?"

"Interesting? Yes. Fun? No."

Zeru chuckled. He didn't volunteer what exactly he had bought, and Harry decided not to ask. All in all the night had been fairly nauseating, and he was fine to let it be. He was still glad he came, though. He had seen El Pasadizo, if only briefly, learned about _gauekoak _eating habits_, _and seen his first truly gory scene. He promised himself that he would try to find time to uncorporate himself back to El Pasadizo during the day, even if he had to wait till after the war.

ooooooooooooooo

At night, now that he had gotten more used to his busy schedule, he began to meet with the _herensuge _and the serpent leader, Itxar. The _herensuge, _surprisingly enough, was a female dragon, and actually had a name: Aintza. He had thought that her name was _Herensuge, _as it was the only thing that the locals called her, but that was not the case. Aintza actually hated being called _herensuge, _as she felt like it was the product of misplaced awe. Harry could understand. He would have hated being called The Boy Who Lived all the time.

Their time together should have been to teach him how to speak to serpents and dragons, but he already was able to speak to serpents. Dragons, he also found out, spoke a language that was more similar to Lizardspeak than Parseltongue.

A similar process happened to him as it did with Lazarus, though on a bigger scale. At first, he had had trouble understanding the garbled language of the dragon, but then the world had flipped upside down, accompanied by not a little amount of pain. When he woke up some time later, sprawled on the grass, he could understand Aintza perfectly. The only explanation Harry could think of was that it was some mysterious manifestation of Sugaar's will and power acting on Harry.

He learned that he wasn't so much to learn to control the reptilian cousins, as to learn how to get them to do what he wanted them to do. It wasn't a sort of blind obedience, as both types of reptiles were too prideful for that sort of thing. He had to understand their culture, and the types of things that they admired, in order to command respect, and therefore lead willing followers and not puppets.

Both types of reptiles respected power— both physical and of venom— and cunning, intelligent minds. In Harry's case, physical or venomous power weren't really possible. Not only did he not have venom, he also wasn't very powerful physically. Especially compared to a dragon.

The two reptiles conceded that he could probably use his magic in lieu of physical prowess, as long as it was something that the creatures could understand. An example being blasting a rock or lifting something heavy.

"I also think I could give you something to help in that respect," said Aintza. She opened her mouth wide, and used her long, forked tongue to break off the tip of a tooth in the back of her mouth.

"Our teeth are of the utmost importance to dragons. Wear this at all times. It shall be a sign to other dragons that you were either able to defeat a dragon, or that you have the respect of a dragon. Otherwise, you would not have been able to get this."

Harry thanked her profusely and put it in his pocket to make into an amulet for a necklace later.

"As you have no venom, and therefore cannot impress serpents with your venom, I will do the next best thing," said Itxar, who was sunbathing on the rock next to him. "I will give you immunity to all venoms."

If a serpent could smile, Itxar would have been smiling. Harry should have been afraid, if he had been given time to notice.

"How will you do that?"

Instead of answering, Itxar reared back his head, and quicker than lightening, had sunk his fangs into Harry's arm. Harry didn't even have time to react before it happened.

He jumped, his seeker-fast reflexes doing him no good in this situation. It was too late. He could feel the burning of the poison coursing through his veins. His heart raced, spreading the poison all the quicker.

He barely had time to make a distressed sound in the back of his throat before the world spun darkly and he passed out. The last thing he saw was Itxar's smug face staring down at him from the rock.

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(1) This is a description of a real gate in Toledo.

A/N: Wow, it's been a month already? Geez, time really flies. I don't know how some people can keep up the updating schedules they do. Then again, if I didn't read, I could write more (read: write at all).

In terms of the last chapter, I have decided to post it somewhere else, but I am currently going through all the chapters and re-reading before I post it there. Then I will update the chapers on this site. We'll see how long this takes :)

How you enjoyed.

Please review!


	20. Mes Plaisirs

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

Summary:After their night of uncontrolled lust, brought together by the Room of Desire, neither Lucius nor Harry can stop thinking of the other. But they are still on different sides of the war. Will they give in to their own desires for more, and if so, whose side will they turn to? And what is up with this mark on his arm? A continuation of enchanted nightingale's Room of Desire, with permission. Slash. Possible Dark!Harry. I can't tell you more without giving away the plot...

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Last Chapter:

_Instead of answering, Itxar reared back his head, and quicker than lightening, had sunk his fangs into Harry's arm. Harry didn't even have time to react before it happened._

_He jumped, his seeker-fast reflexes doing him no good in this situation. It was too late. He could feel the burning of the poison coursing through his veins. His heart raced, spreading the poison all the quicker._

_He barely had time to make a distressed sound in the back of his throat before the world spun darkly and he passed out. The last thing he saw was Itxar's smug face staring down at him from the rock._

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**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 20: Mes Plaisirs

Harry woke up two days later in a cave. He had evidently been brought there by someone or something, and seeing the scorch marks on the cave walls, he assumed it had been Aintza. His head was pounding. It felt like what he would expect a hangover to be like, but worse. He was nauseous, dehydrated, dizzy, had a headache, and was achy all over… but on top of all that his hands wouldn't stop twitching, he was wheezing, and he was covered in blood. His arm was still swollen and sore where Itxar had bitten him. The dried blood caked on his skin itched like crazy. He raised his good hand to his face and brushed away rust colored dried blood. He could feel it all over his lips and chin, and taste it in his mouth. It seemed that he had either gotten a bloody nose or bled from his mouth, or both.

Looking down, he realized that he had been laid on a bed of leaves. At first he sort of resented the fact that no one had thought to clean him of blood, but then realized that dragons and snakes weren't exactly the best equipped creatures to clean things off. Snakes didn't have arms or hands, and a dragon's arms and hands were too big to really do anything without doing more harm than good.

By pure habit only, he raised a hand to push up his glasses. With a jolt, he realized that he wasn't wearing any. But yet he could see fine.

In fact, he could see better than fine. He supposed it was a byproduct of being bitten by Itxar. His sight hadn't improved at all after being bitten by the basilisk, so it couldn't just be the venom. He wondered if there were any other changes.

He was in the middle of checking his body for other changes, and finding none, when Aintza came into the cave. She had a dead goat in her enormous jaws.

Aintza dropped the goat on the floor and said, "You're finally up."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Two days. Are you hungry? I can cook it for you," she gestured with her head at the dead goat. Its sightless eyes were staring directly at Harry. He was more than a little creeped out, looking into its horizontal pupils. Even if he had been willing to eat it before, after seeing that he wouldn't have been hungry.

"Er, no. Maybe some water if you have some."

Aintza gestured with her head towards a spring in the back of the cave. "That's drinkable."

Harry got up and hobbled over to the spring. After being on the floor of the cave for so long, his body was a little sore and not used to movement. He stared at the spring, wondering how he was supposed to go about drinking from it. In the end he just kneeled as close as he could to the water and drank from his cupped hands. He had tried to lean down and drink like a dog, but found that it was hard to breathe like that, and he wasn't getting enough water at a time. Harry contemplated washing all the blood and grime off himself, but thought better of it when he considered that this was Aintza's drinking supply, too.

Harry turned back to Aintza, who had yet to start eating. He was already feeling better.

"I think I'll just go back. They're probably wondering where I am."

"We're not that far from Zugarramurdi here, but would you like me to give you a lift anyway?"

Harry's eyes widened. He was surprised that such a proud creature would offer to debase itself to basically being a riding horse for him. Looking at her, though, the offer seemed genuine, and not purely one made out of politeness.

"That would be good. I don't know how to get back."

Aintza walked out of the cave and ducked down. "Get on."

So, after much climbing and falling and jumping and scrabbling, our little hero finally made it onto the back of the dragon (he ended up climbing a tree and jumping down onto her back).

The feel of riding a dragon was incomparable. It was much, much better than riding a thestral, or a hippogriff. It wasn't as fast as his Firebolt, though he suspected she could go much faster, but it was much more exhilarating. There was something about being on the back of an immensely powerful animal that surpassed all else. It was a pure adrenalin rush. He closed his eyes and imprinted the memory into his brain forever. The feel of the wind in his ears, the rise and fall of their bodies as Aintza flapped her wings, his legs spread impossibly wide over the girth of the dragon, the feeling of just barely hanging on. It was amazing. He wished he could tell Erastes.

Aintza landed them in a clearing just outside of Zugarramurdi. Harry slid off her back awkwardly. He would have liked to say that he descended from her back in an elegant fashion, but the reality was that he sort of plummeted off her back, just barely keeping upright, and then promptly tripped over his own feet and fell over.

Aintza giggled. "Will that be all," she asked.

"Yes. Wait. No. How come I can see? I don't need my glasses anymore. I was bitten by a basilisk three years ago, but then a phoenix came by and healed me. How come that didn't change me at all? Are there other changes?"

"Whoa little one," Aintza chuckled, the noise rumbling in her chest. "You can see because of the bite that Itxar gave you. Itxar, being the leader of the serpents, was able to pass on immunity to you, as well as the improved eyesight. You didn't feel any effects before because the phoenix negated the effects of the basilisk venom. But you knew both of those things already. And no, you will not change any further."

"Alright, that's reassuring." Harry stated. He thanked her for the ride, and for teaching him, and let her return to her goat.

When Harry entered Prophyta's house a few minutes later, he wasn't sure what to expect. He wouldn't have been surprised to be ambushed at the door and either reprimanded or hugged to death.

Neither was the case. Harry walked in, and there was no Prophyta waiting for him. In fact, she didn't seem to be home at all. Unless she was at Viola's or out on a search party, which was entirely possible. He decided that being covered in blood wasn't really the best way to greet people, so he went upstairs for a quick wash.

He came downstairs after his shower and changing clothes to find Prophyta calmly walking in the door with a basket of eggs clutched in her hands.

"Welcome back," she said calmly.

Harry winced, anticipating an explosion. "Er, hello?"

"How do you feel?"

"Uh… good?" He reached up to adjust his glasses out of nervous habit, and internally jolted again when he encountered none. _Hm_. He'd have to get used to that.

"Good."

After a pause, in which Prophyta casually rearranged some drying plants, he was about to burst.

He squinted one eye and asked, "Er, are you not mad?"

"No," she smiled, "I knew you'd be gone for a couple of days."

"Oh. Why didn't you tell me?"

Prophyta smiled and sat at the table. She gestured for him to do the same. After she had watched him sit, she replied. "Because I was not told when it happened to me."

Harry sat gaping at her.

She ignored his staring, and lifted the sleeve of her tunic. On her arm there were two scar marks in the shape and size of Itxar's fangs.

"You… it happened to you, too?"

"Yes. No one may be told what is to happen before they go."

"Why did you go?"

Instead of responding, she reached down to the edge of her tunic and lifted it up. The skin underneath was lightly tan. Harry's eyes bulged. When she began to push down the waist of her skirt, Harry began to worry. _Was she…?_ He blushed furiously.

He averted his eyes to the table, seeing her expose her stomach out of the corner of his eye. Oh, Merlin. This had to stop. He felt immensely uncomfortable. He could feel his face heating with the force of his blush. He didn't know what to say or do. But he had to say something. He opened his mouth.

"I'm gay," he blurted.

She looked up at him, startled.

And then she laughed, long and loud.

And kept laughing.

It was a deep, throaty laugh that was unselfconscious, if not a little manly, and full of pure joy.

Harry was still embarrassed. Prophyta's laugher began to die down, but when she saw his confused, blushing face, she began to giggle. Soon her laughter evolved back to hoots and laughter. Eventually, her laughs calmed down enough for her to talk.

"I… I wasn't coming on to you," she said, still smiling broadly. "I was trying to show you this." She pointed at her still exposed stomach.

About 5 centimeters underneath her bellybutton was an oddly shaped birth mark. It looked like a crescent moon with a handle, and there was a circle around everything. It was a sickle.

With a jolt, Harry realized that oddly shaped birthmarks weren't common. In fact, he was the only other person he knew of with an oddly shaped birthmark. His avatar mark. That meant that she was an avatar, as well. He looked at Prophyta in shock. She was looking at him, a small smile on her face.

He fought to think of something to say. He ended up with, "Err…Is that a sickle?"

"Yes. It is a sickle in front of the full moon. The sickle is the symbol of Mari. I am the avatar of Mari. She is the goddess of the earth, of thunder and wind. She is Maju's other half."

"What does it mean? I mean, that you have one of those, too."

"We are a pair, you and I."

"Like a couple?" He fought to not make a face. It would be rude.

"No, not in a romantic sense. We are merely… loosely connected. In a way, we are like brother and sister." Prophyta looked amused, as if she knew what he was thinking.

"Oh," _phew. _"Do we always come in pairs?"

"No. I have been an avatar by myself for many years before you came along. I did my task, and have waited for you, to guide you."

"Oh. That's… nice of you. How often do we show up?"

"The last avatar before me was in the 1800s."

Harry paused, wondering if it was appropriate to ask her what her task was. But he supposed it wasn't something intensely personal. And she knew his.

"What was your task?"

Prophyta looked into his eyes, staring intensely. "I ended World War II."1

Harry choked on the breath that he was inhaling.

"Wha-_What_?? What?!"

"I mean, I captured Mussolini, gave him to the Communists, and banished Hitler to Hell to be eaten by demons." She said matter-of-factly. "Oh, and I gave Hitler a nervous breakdown in the week before he died. That bastard deserved the extra punishment for all the shit he did." She shrugged. "I even gathered information on the Axis movements before that. Had to, or else the two leaders dying wouldn't have had an impact. I had to weaken the Axis first before I killed anyone."

"But— But!" Harry's head was filled with all the things he had learned and heard about the war, especially the end of it. He struggled to remember, but it felt as if it had been ages since he learned about it.

To be told that _this woman _had basically ended it seemed unreal. It threw his world for a loop. And she was so young looking! She didn't look old enough to have done that! Harry fought to remember what he had learned and read about the War. From his own memory, the downturn of the Axis had been going on for quite a while before the end.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to believe that she had basically single-handedly ended the war. It seemed too unreal to be true. But he had learned in his time here to trust Prophyta, and the two desires were warring in him. If it were true…he hoped that his task wasn't going to be equally as daunting.

He hoped that Prophyta really had ended the Second World War. That would mean that one person really could do the impossible.

"Technically, I just passed on the information, you know. A well-placed listening charm or twenty can do wonders." Prophyta said glibly.

What he had learned so far about the War fought with the new knowledge he had been given.

Everything he had heard about it was from Muggles after all, and they had a tendency to get history wrong. At least in the sense that they were so ignorant of the Wizarding world that their versions of history weren't necessarily what really happened. He just had so many questions.

"But!"

"But, what, Mussolini was captured by Communists all on their own, and Hitler committed suicide in the bunker? Why do you think they never found his body?" Prophyta smirked evilly. "Maybe the Allies would have won eventually, but the fates had me step in."

"But why? Why did you have to do something in the Muggle world?" That was a big surprise for him. He was supposed to work inside the Wizarding world, and she had ended a Muggle war? The war with Grindelwald was going on at that time as well, why end the Muggle war and not the Wizarding one?

"It wasn't only the Muggle world. The Holocaust was killing the Romani." Prophyta became oddly serious. "The Romani are cousins of the _sorginak. _You usually think of them as Gypsies, but that is merely the Muggle interpretation. They are very secretive about their magic, so the Muggles don't know about it. They just think the Romani are strange, secretive traveling bands of 'wierdos.' They seem to know about the Seer ability. Romani are famous for being Seers and Soothsayers. Muggles just think they're fortune tellers. But though they're secretive, they prefer to live life along side the Muggle world instead of apart from it like we do."

"Gypsies are actually really magical?"

"Yes. Of course. And anyway, the Second World War would have begun to affect the Wizarding world soon enough. Witches and wizards from all around the world were dying. Their cities were being bombed, and muggleborns and squibs were dying on the battlefield. As much as wizards would like to believe it isn't so, the Muggle and the Wizarding world do affect each other."

Harry assimilated the information. It made sense, in a way. He could see why Prophyta had to interfere, if Romani really were like _sorginak _and had magic and all that. But he still wondered why she would have to deal with something that had more to do with the Muggle world than the Wizarding one.

He also wondered why she didn't intervene sooner. Then he decided that asking _that_ particular question would be insulting and wisely held off.

"What about Grindelwald? Why didn't you have to do anything with him?"

"Because it wasn't my task. I already had my task," she seemed amused at her own non-answer. "But I understand what you are asking. It was Albus Dumbledore's job. He helped create Grindelwald. He had to conquer him. Their fates were intertwined." Then Prophyta smiled. It was more like the friendly Prophyta that he knew. "And the Romani were more of a priority for Mari," she joked, though Harry could sense the underlying truth in the statement. Why would Mari care if there was some German Wizard killing Brits? Then again…

"Is Dumbledore an avatar?"

"No. Not everyone that does something great is an avatar. Only those that do something truly great, that affects our peoples: the _sorginak, _the _lamiak, _the _basajunak, _and so on. Your task isn't confined to something in Britain. You should remember that, Harry."

Prophyta looked uncharacteristically somber. There was something about the expression on her face that spoke of great pain. It was in the glint in her eyes, the tightness of her face.

"And you should also remember that sometimes it is necessary for people to make mistakes. It is what we learn from. We would never learn if our lives were perfect. Nor would we be grateful. Even if you could step in sooner, and even if the consequences are dire." She looked in his eyes and the expression on her face pierced his soul. "And even if it will be your greatest regret till the end of your days and be a dark mark on your soul. It is our hardships that define us, Sugoitxo."

Prophyta had unshed tears welling up in her eyes. The skin around her lips and eyes was tight with holding them back. Her skin had turned an odd gray color that seemed strange on her tanned skin.

Harry now had the answer to his earlier unasked question. She hadn't stepped in sooner because the world had to learn. It had to make a mistake, and come back from it, and learn to _never, ever_ do such a thing again. It had to be marked in history as an event, when humankind crossed the line and began to decimate itself in a senseless series of acts of violence.

He didn't know if it had been a conscious decision on her part or not, but he could tell that it was killing her inside. She had never gotten over it, even over 50 years later. He wished he could say or do something to make it better.

In the end, he just reached his hand out across the table and gripped hers in it. She squeezed her hand back, and her face crumpled. She bowed her head over the table, her face inches from the surface. Harry could see through the fall of her dark hair, her silent tears dripping onto the tabletop.

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1 The following isn't meant in a bad way. I know it's not possible that she ended World War II single handedly. I know what 'really' happened, to the extent that one can know from learning about it in books, so please don't take offense.

AN: Yeah yeah I know, haven't updated for like 5 months. SORRY. RL and all that crap. Also I originally wanted to finish _Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England_ first, but that's turning out longer than I had planned... funny how that happens. Anyway, sorry again for the long wait.

Please Review!


	21. Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The story and chapter titles come from the Edith Piaf song of the same name, and do not belong to me, either.

Summary: After their night of uncontrolled lust, brought together by the Room of Desire, neither Lucius nor Harry can stop thinking of the other. But they are still on different sides of the war. Will they give in to their own desires for more, and if so, whose side will they turn to? And what is up with this mark on his arm? A continuation of enchanted nightingale's Room of Desire, with permission. Slash. Possible Dark!Harry. I can't tell you more without giving away the plot...

Last Chapter:

_Harry now had the answer to his earlier unasked question. She hadn't stepped in sooner because the world had to learn. It had to make a mistake, and come back from it, and learn to never, ever do such a thing again. It had to be marked in history as an event, when humankind crossed the line and began to decimate itself in a senseless series of acts of violence. _

_He didn't know if it had been a conscious decision on her part or not, but he could tell that it was killing her inside. She had never gotten over it, even over 50 years later. He wished he could say or do something to make it better. _

_In the end, he just reached his hand out across the table and gripped hers in it. She squeezed her hand back, and her face crumpled. She bowed her head over the table, her face inches from the surface. Harry could see through the fall of her dark hair, her silent tears dripping onto the tabletop._

**Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien**

Chapter 21: Je N'ai Plus Besoin D'eux

After he learned how to control his emotions, and, incidentally, he also learned how to better occlude. He wasn't the best at it yet, and he wasn't sure if his shields would last against being pounded at by Snape, but he had found that it was _much _easier to learn when a) he was in a calm state of mind, and therefore able to control his emotions, and b) he wasn't being verbally attacked at every turn. Go figure.

So his morning tutelage was handed over to the _basajunak _and the _basandereak,_ the wild and hairy men and women that lived in the woods_. _Zeru still visited, for breakfast or lunch when he could, and they still had conversations, but not with a distinct didactic purpose. He did help Harry drill a hole in his dragon's tooth and loop it with leather to create a necklace, though.

Being wild men, the _basajunak _were more comfortable in the wilderness. Harry had to go out to them after breakfast, in consideration for this fact. The first couple times, a _sorgina _or _sorgino_ from Zugarramurdi would accompany himto make sure everything went alright, but after that he found his way on his own.

The hairy, stout men were very attuned to the earth and all its elements. Though they had magic, since they were so different biologically from 'normal' witches and wizards— and even from the _sorginak— _their magic was quite different to what Harry had learned so far. It involved having more of an understanding of the earth, and necessitated a certain communion with the earth itself. They were a very musical bunch, saying that music lifted the soul, and raised their praises of nature to the sky. It was how they prayed and worshipped the earth and the elements.

Harry befriended many of the _basajunak, _as he had to spend more time there than his normal meager two evenings per creature group. The leader of the _basajunak _and _basandereak _was a sturdy, tough dark auburn haired man by the name of Ortzi. Harry wasn't sure if he was unsettled more by Ortzi's hirsute _basandere _wife, or his children. They were all very hairy and kind of disturbing looking.

It was so important that Harry learn to control his emotions, because the weather reflected his very strongest emotions. He recalled, vaguely, times when it had stormed when he was in a foul mood. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but now it made sense, in a way. He also remembered thinking that it had been raining right before he had left for Hagrid's hut the day before he was sent back to the Dursleys. Therefore, it was important for Harry to control his more intense emotions.

That control of his emotions could work the other way around. It implied that he could willingly affect the weather, to a point, by purposefully manipulating his emotions. It was up to the _basajunak_ to teach him how to shape the weather without having to force himself into an emotional rollercoaster.

"You must ask _Ama Lur _for permission to make rain or wind," explained Ortzi. Ama Lur, evidently, was more or less Mother Earth.

"How do I do that?"

"You feel it, in here." Ortzi raised a hand to Harry's lithe chest.

Harry looked confused, "How do I know what it feels like? How do I know what it is?"

"You will feel it," said Ortzi, nodding with a twinkle in his eye. "Listen."

Before Harry could respond, he had shouted over his shoulder a loud, musical call. The rest of the tribe, which had previously been lounging, immediately took up the call. They sat up straight and the ones that had been lounging a ways away meandered into the clearing.

Ortzi began to clap. The young men began to repeat a low, airy '_hooh, hooh' _noise to establish the rhythm. Ortzi spun around and began a call and repeat.

"_Ama Lur, alabatzen diogu," _he sang. His voice rose over the rhythmic huffing of the young men. 

_"Ama Lur, deitzen diogu," _the tribe sang back as one.

"_Ama Lur, alabatzen diogu." _Ortzi stood, towering over his kneeling tribe.

He threw his arms out and began to dance in a wild, untrained gyrating of limbs. His body jerked and jumped and swayed to the rhythm the young _basajunak_. It was so instinctive and natural, and so _free_. It was like the joy and high emotion he was feeling was translating directly to his limbs. He used his entire body in the dance, rotating and flinging each joint, including his elbows, wrists, fingers and ankles. It was so unrestrained and un-self-conscious that it was beautiful.

_"Ama Lur, deitzen diogu."_

"_Ama Lur, alabatzen diogu," _cried Ortzi.

This time, instead of the entire tribe responding in unison, they all responded on their own. The air was filled with a cacophony of _"Ama Lur, deitzen diogu," _but all at different times, in different voices, with different tunes. The words all jumbled together, falling over each other in a tuneless harmony. Some said it only once, and others said it multiple times.

The members of the tribe began to slap themselves in a cockeyed imitation of rhythm. They slapped their thighs, their chests and stomachs, and clapped their hands together. It was purely primal. They slowly began to build a rhythm again, but it was different than before. It was more complex.

When the new rhythm was established, Ortzi's voice rose again, and he began to sing again. But this time, the entire tribe took up the song all together, their voices weaving a harmony. They were using their voices and their bodies to worship. 

_"Muéstrenosak, mesedez._

_Zure maitasunaren edertasunarekin tóquenosak._

"_Muéstrenosak, mesedez._

_Zure maitasunaren edertasunarekin tóquenosak."__(1)_

And that was when Harry felt it. It wasn't quite another presence in him, but he felt _something _well inside of him. It felt like pure emotion. It was like something was clenching his heart and squeezing his ribs. A breathless warmth filled him. He felt loved. He felt so small and insignificant. He felt like the entire universe was looking at him. He felt how the entire universe was intertwined and connected, and he was just a small point in the enormous web. Then, just for a millionth of a second, he felt _something else _inside of him, exploring him, greeting him.

Harry found he had no control over his face: he had broken out in a smile, not huge, but calm and serene. He was too happy to stop the smile. Ortzi, standing in the middle of the clearing, caught his eye and smiled, too. He walked over, weaving through the still singing _basajunak _and _basandereak. _

"Now you know," Ortzi said, referring to Harry's question from much earlier.

"That was… amazing," Harry breathed. "At the end, I thought I felt…" he trailed off. He couldn't describe it. And even as he sat there thinking about it, his memory of the sensation was slipping through his fingers like water.

"She accepted you," he replied, still smiling. "You should be proud. It does not happen to all."

"So then, how do I affect the weather?"

"That feeling is what you must ask for permission. Your intentions must be pure, and your heart good for it to happen. Let that feeling well up inside of you. Ask for permission by imagining what you want to happen. You will feel her response, very clearly, inside of you."

It wasn't that hard to call storms or wind without feeling intense emotions. He basically just followed Ortzi's instructions. It also helped that calling a storm was much like _magia nahia _in the sense that it mostly just involved having a clear idea of what he wanted, and a strong desire for it to happen. The only difference was that, in addition to that, he also had to have to cooperation and acceptance of Ama Lur.

So Harry did. He was much better versed at willing things to happen and at imagining what he wanted than when he first arrived in Zugarramurdi. But it still took him a couple nights to remember and identify that feeling that had welled up inside of him, and ask it for permission. When he finally succeeded, something happened that totally astonished him.

He felt as if Ama Lur, or the wind, or _something _were communicating with him. He recalled the feeling of being analyzed and greeted the first time he had felt Ama Lur. It wasn't words or sentences so much as feelings, and nanosecond flashes of images. When he finally succeeded in calling a storm, the feeling of a pride not quite his own flooded him. He felt the wind in his hair, but as if he _was _the wind. The image of the night sky, of the trees in the forest, of the rain, and of himself flashed in his mind's eye. And all throughout there was that feeling of pride and acceptance.

Harry figured, or hoped rather, that it was either Ama Lur or the wind or the storm communicating to him its happiness and acceptance of him. He allowed his own feelings of admiration to flow through his body. He wondered if, eventually, he could use this to his advantage. If he could ask specific questions and have them answered. He resolved to first deepen the link between himself and whatever it was that was communicating with him, and then ask questions later. He wasn't sure if the earth or wind could get offended, but he figured it was safer to not be rude.

After that demonstration by the _basajunak, _Harry was eager to learn more about the religion and magic of the _basajunak. _He learned all of their songs, worshipful and not, and even asked them to sing their songs of worship a few more times, when they normally wouldn't have. He also learned songs to Eki and Ilargi, the sun and the moon. Both were daughters of Ama Lur, and returned to her to rest at the end of their respective shifts. Harry felt similar sensations when they sang to Eki and Ilargi, but they weren't as strong, nor as warm.

He also ended up learning that his power over the storms wasn't as controlling as he had thought. He could form them, yes. But once they were created, he could only do so much in the way of manipulating it. He could make it larger by calling a larger storm to start with, vaguely tell it where to go, and give areas over which he wanted lightening to strike or rain to fall, and commune with the wind to direct it, but beyond that, he didn't have control. He supposed it was due to the fact that he had to ask Ama Lur for permission to create a storm, and so he really had to let her do as she pleased after he made it.

But there was one other thing that he had realized very clearly after the bliss from being filled by acceptance from Ama Lur had faded. He had suddenly comprehended the amount of power he held. It wasn't infinite, not even close, but it was awesome nonetheless. It was almost as if feeling so small had made him realize the extent of the powers he held. He was so much more than a witch or a wizard. He didn't know what he was, and he wasn't sure what he had done to earn such power.

He now realized the responsibility that was put on his shoulders. It was so much more than defeating Voldemort (which was daunting enough on its own). It was something that affected the entire world. But not only that, he had the responsibility to control his power and not let it get to his head. He had a great task on his little shoulders, and couldn't let himself get carried away by his power.

Granted, he had that limit on his power that made him tired, but he didn't have the limiter of knowledge that others did. Pretty much literally all he had to do was imagine something, and it would happen. And he could affect the weather, as well as speak to and command serpents and dragons. He wasn't a god, but he wasn't supposed to be. The responsibility was enough as it was. He felt daunted, knowing he had to restore balance and fight some as-yet unknown evil. He had a lot of work in front of him. He didn't know where to begin.

With this new burden on his shoulders and in his heart, all he wished was for someone to talk to. Now, more than ever before, he wished that Erastes were with him, a real, living and breathing person that he could talk to. He already knew him pretty well through their letters. It would have been nice to talk to someone who didn't know the situation. After a day of debating who to go to in Zugarramurdi, he eventually took his thoughts to Zeru.

"You will not have to carry this burden alone," Zeru said, when Harry came to him as he was lounging next to a fountain with a decorative windmill in the middle. "You already have many friends in Zugarramurdi. Part of what you must learn during your time here is that you need not take all hardship upon yourself solely."

Together they lounged in the shade of a tree, listening to the sounds of the fountain. Sunlight dappled through the swaying leaves. It would soon be the hottest time of the year, and the sun's rays already shone so much brighter than Harry was used to. His formerly pale skin had tanned to a healthy brown. Harry idly chewed on a stalk of grass.

"I know. It's actually a really comforting thought," replied Harry. "You know, it's funny, actually. That I consider creatures my friends. Not in a bad way, I mean. It's just that most wizards and witches would probably balk at the idea. _I _probably would have a few months ago, or maybe even a few weeks ago, if I hadn't gotten to know everyone individually."

"That is exactly the point. Now that you have seen what the world terms 'dark creatures' and gotten to know them, you know that not all of the current views are good. That is part of what you must change."

"I know."

"You mustn't judge on prejudices, or even past experiences, but rather keep an open mind. One bad experience or one particular being is not indicative of the whole."

"I _do _know. I have to judge on a person-by-person… I mean, creature-by-creature basis. I want to keep an open mind. I just hope I can. It's easier said than done, I think."

"It is indeed, Sugoitxo."

"I mean, for example, with you even." Harry rambled on, as if the Lord Gaueko hadn't even spoken. "You're known for brutally killing sheep and humans, and on top of that you're the Lord of the Black Magic. Like, people are immensely afraid of you, and some even probably hate you, and I mean that in the nicest way possible…" Harry coughed awkwardly before moving on quickly, "but you and I are friends! We spend loads of time together. Like, I really admire you. I'm sad that prejudice could have kept me from that."

Harry even admitted to himself that, under different circumstances, he might not have given the beast a chance. But when they had met, he had known that no harm would come to him in Zugarramurdi, and so he hadn't been worried. It also helped that as a guest, he had to be more polite and open minded than he otherwise might have been.

"Or, like, okay. Another example. The _basajunak. _They're an extremely ugly, stupid looking race, and their primal natures don't do anything to help their image. They're so unsophisticated, and primitive. Like, I know that witches and wizards would call them savages. But I _like_ them. I mean, from a different point of view, they're refreshingly simple, and in touch with nature. They don't have technology or any of our social rules, and that's what allows them to commune so well with Ama Lur. In that sense, they're _better _than witches and wizards."

"I am glad you are able to see this. It is important. You must keep this in mind when you return, and allow it to guide your actions," said the Lord Gaueko, turning to face Harry fully. "Think also of what you have learned by allowing yourself to befriend these creatures.

"You have learned the _sorginak _way of magic, and how to uncorporate— the _iratxoak _way of apparating— and seen the _lamiak _way of controlling water, and learned from the _basajunak _about Ama Lur and how to control the weather, among other things. You have learned a wealth of information from the creatures that you would have previously cast aside. You have already reaped the benefits of keeping your mind open to new magics and to new ways of doing things.

"You have a big task before you, Sugoitxo, and you must be willing to keep your mind open and accept help in whatever form it comes in. Consider this: in order for a bucket to be filled, it must first be placed below the tap."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you must lower yourself, in order to learn from others. Do not hold yourself above others."

"Yeah, okay. I hope that won't be a problem with me."

"I see that it will not."

A white and black cat came to them then, interrupting their conversation. Harry never knew if a cat in Zugarramurdi was really a cat, or a transformed _sorginak. _Zeru flopped back to the ground and Harry allowed himself to reach forward to pet the animal behind the ears.

Then Harry had a thought. It wasn't just keeping an open mind. The 'balance' was off, whatever the Hell that meant. But he was intelligent, so he pretty much had a good idea what that meant. That light and dark weren't equal anymore, like they should be. So to 'reestablish the balance,' he basically had to be the champion for the dark, to give them back their voice. Part of him recoiled at the idea, but then he realized that that was likely a product of the unstable balance that he had been a part of for so many years.

Here he was thinking about giving both sides a chance, and he was still a little prejudiced against the dark. It made him realize just how much work he had in front of him, at least in the minds and hearts of people. It also made him realize that maybe he had to take a look at the light side as well. It had influenced his (and everyone else's) values so much, that while it might not necessarily be corrupt, something definitely had to change. He was definitely afraid of what he would find.

That brought on the thought of the revelation he had had concerning Dumbledore while talking to Bill at Hogwarts. It seemed like an age ago now. He hadn't even thought about that conversation in so long. He had been so busy, and his head filled with so many new, exciting things, that it had been pushed to the back of his mind. And then time had run away from him, and before he knew it weeks had passed.

But even now that he realized that he had been putting it off, he still didn't want to think about that. He was having fun. It felt like that life was a world away, and he wanted to keep it like that. He told himself that he still had so much to do and to learn that he couldn't afford to be sidetracked right now. Maybe when he got back to England.

He just hoped that he would have a minute to himself when he got back, because everyone was probably panicking wondering where he was. He absolutely dreaded going back. That was going to be horrible! And he didn't know when he was going back, but he knew it was soon. But, as Zeru would say, _What must, must._

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AN: Sorry for the delay. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, I much appreciate every review I receive!

(1) I have no clue if this is right. I went to a Spanish-Euskera translator and put in what I wanted it to say, but I am pretty sure it's wrong.

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